Coward
by Gueneviere
Summary: HGKS. He stared. He stared and he cursed because the bloody chit was wearing the little white sundress again. The one that just screamed ‘I’m a young, naïve, virginal, little girl and you’re a filthy pervert for leering at my gorgeous, womanly legs'.
1. The Quintessence of Dust

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**I**

**THE QUINTESSENCE OF DUST**

* * *

"_Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;_

_And thus the native hue of resolution_

_Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;_

_And enterprises of great pith and moment,_

_With this regard, their currents turn awry,_

_And lose the name of action. "_

_- **Shakespeare;** **Hamlet, Act III, scene i.**_

* * *

- - - -

He was watching her again.

He was watching her again and he knew it: he knew he was staring, and he knew that despite his skills as an Auror, she was clever and cunning, and bound to find out eventually.

Others would start to notice soon too. After all, Grimmauld Place was home to the Order of the Phoenix; its members were supposed to be able to effectively disarm a Death Eater creeping out on them, they _should _be able to realize he had been ogling the eighteen-year-old girl rather inappropriately as of late.

He _knew_ all of this and yet he could not help himself; he stared.

He stared and he cursed under his breath because the bloody chit was wearing the little white sundress again. That little white sundress that just screamed _I'm a young, naïve, virginal, teenage girl and you're a filthy pervert for leering at my gorgeous, womanly legs_.

God, sometimes he was inclined to think that she did it on purpose.

But, of course, that was insane, because Hermione Granger would never look at him twice. She would send him a charming smile, nod her head, and go onto hug the next Weasley.

She had actually never looked at him any differently than she looked at Moody.

Merlin, there was a depressing thought.

It wasn't not like she did not acknowledge his skills. He wasn't joking when he said she looked at him like she looked at Moody—she was the only of the young ones that respected the former Auror like he deserved. She would observe him, and she would study him, and she would learn. Yes, she would learn. She had, actually, saved the lives of her silly little friends countless of times ever since they had left school last summer.

She would make a brilliant Auror one day. At least that's what Mad-Eye had told him--or rather, what he had heard Mad-Eye mutter, for Alastor Moody would never praise another human being as long as he lived.

He did, though, give her a slight recognition over her peers. He called her by her name.

Not 'Hermione', of course; he would rather be stomped by a herd of mountain trolls in heat, than call someone by their first name.

No. He called her 'Granger'.

_"Granger and the lot of them are going on one of their little secret missions this afternoon. The last one, the Potter boy, says." _The old, former Auror had announced in yesterday's Order meeting. "_Also, I want the Weasley girl to train with Auror Tonks on her defensive spells; we will not be having any more situations like last week's. People won't always be around to save you from a silly slicing hex…"_

Kingsley sighed and sneaked another look around but Hermione and her indecent white sundress were gone.

He quickly suppressed the childish pout that was tugging on his lower lip. Gods, he was a thirty-two year old man! Senior Auror, member of the Order of the Phoenix and all that shit! What the hell was wrong with him?!

_Hermione, _an annoying little voice that sounded much like Nymphadora's whispered in his head. _Hermione Granger is what's wrong with you._

It wasn't that she ignored him, oh no. In fact, they had held some very interesting conversations on some new Arithmancy theories he hadn't found anyone else to discuss them with. Plus, she had helped him quite a bit with some basic muggle-knowledge, and since then his part-time job as secretary to the muggle Prime Minister had been going much more smoothly.

At least now he wasn't afraid of the bloody coffee machine… (It had burned him, okay!?)

So no, it wasn't lack of attention. The problem was the _kind_ of attention she gave him. She talked to him like he was some kind of unofficial Professor, which, of course, he didn't want to be since the things he was interested in teaching to her were… er, of a different _nature_.

Still, Lupin was much more of an unofficial Professor than he would ever be and she _did_ hug _him_!

In fact… ah, yes, there she was: standing by the kitchen counter, talking to him animatedly about some book or another. Probably 'Macbeth', or 'Romeo and Juliet'; all the bloody werewolf ever seemed to read was Shakespeare.

He approached a pink-haired Tonks, who sat in the breakfast table near the pair, being uncharacteristically quiet as she sipped her glass of butterbeer.

"Wotcher, Kingsley!" she greeted him with that bubbly grin of hers.

"Hey there, Tonks," he answered vaguely as he sat across her, his dark eyes still fixed on Hermione and Lupin.

"So…what do _you_ think about the '_quintichence of dust'_?" She asked him, evidently pleased to be using a big word-- even if she did so incorrectly.

He laughed, he couldn't help it. "'Q_uintessence_ of dust', Tonks," he grinned and sighed, "'Hamlet' tonight, huh?"

Tonks shrugged and took another swing of her butterbeer, "I wouldn't know, they just started talking about how people think themselves almighty, but are actually just dirt. Sounds like a load of bull to me, though," she answered, but smiled a little as she watched an incensed Lupin trying to convince Hermione of something.

Good luck with _that_.

He scowled at the sandy-haired man whose hand rested for a second on the brunette's slightly tanned shoulder, growling softly despite himself.

Tonks turned her pink head turned to face him. "You alright, Kings?"

He was startled and broke off his glaring context with the unaware lycanthrope. "Alright? Me? Sure, of course… it's just that…"

"It's just that what?" she prodded scooting closer to the table. Damned Tonks, she was supposed to be the oblivious one.

He sighed deeply. "It's just, well…doesn't it… you know, bother you?" he inquired tentatively nodding at Lupin.

"_Bother_ me? Why should it bother me?" She sounded confused. Kingsley glanced at her uneasily. Bloody hell, would he have to spell it out for her?

"Um, I don't know, because he's your _boyfriend_, maybe?" He tried to be his usual sardonic self, but ended up sounding hesitant.

_Damn._

Tonks stared at him for a second, then looked back at the pair, wrinkling her brow in puzzlement. "Wha-_oh_!"

To his surprise, she didn't seem upset at all. She was grinning!

"Y-you think there's something going on between Hermione and Remus?" she laughed, "Merlin, Kingsley, you're so blind; he thinks of her as his little sister!"

"Really?" he tried to ask in a disinterested tone, but somehow didn't manage to keep his relief from seeping into his question.

"Yes, really," she answered, but proceeded to stare at him with a very unusual calculative gleam in her phosphorescent violet eyes. Then she asked him calmly, "Kingsley, does it bother _you_, perhaps?"

_Damn!_

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tonks, you must've had too much butterbeer," he answered with a confidence that would have fooled anyone.

Anyone other than Tonks, of course, who had been his partner ever since she got out of Auror Academy and up to last year; and thus, knew him _quite_ well.

Plus, he was blushing slightly under his dark skin.

"_Wow_. Hermione Granger, huh? So that's why you've been staring at her like you've been _confundused_, for the past few days…"

_Damn, damn, damn, DAMN!_

"You're delusional, Tonks," he assured her, his voice wavering just a little.

She laughed again, and shook her pink head in disbelief, "_Hermione Granger_…" she whispered to herself, "_eighteen-year old_ Hermione Granger… _schoolgirl _Hermione Granger!" she gushed both excited and stunned. "Holy Merlin, _Hermione Granger_, who would've thought…"

"Shut _up_, Nymphadora!" he hissed to her urgently, as he realized Lupin and the girl in question had apparently agreed to disagree and were approaching them slowly. "I _get_ the point!"

Tonks waved a hand in dismissal. "_Relax_, I won't say anything. Remus would probably kill you anyways; I don't think he would take it kindly that a thirty-two year old man fancies his 'baby sister'." She snickered, but he frowned and pursed his lips because it was too true.

"But if you ask me, he's a hypocrite, I'm thirteen years younger than him anywa-"

"And why, pray tell, Dora dear, would I be a _hypocrite_?" Remus Lupin questioned, sitting besides his girlfriend, blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

"No reason," she answered simply, and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet, "come on, Remus, we've got to go make sure Ron and Harry haven't murdered my cousin yet."

Lupin trailed after her, sighing at the prospective of breaking up yet _another_ fight between Malfoy and the male two-thirds of the Golden Trio.

"You're not going with them?" Kingsley asked Hermione while leaning back on the table, attempting to look cool and mysterious.

The girl turned to face him; wavy chocolate-brown hair falling down her back, coffee-colored eyes studying him in silence. After a couple of seconds she smiled at him and he realized he had been holding his breath.

"Oh, no, the boys will just have to fix their issues on their own. I've made my peace with Draco already," she answered and daintily took the seat besides him.

He felt himself go warm and his heart beat just a tad faster. Merlin, it was pure torture having her so close.

"_Draco_?" He tried to suppress the jealousy that hit him hard on the gut.

"Well, yes, I decided 'Ferret Boy' is not a suitable name for an ally, after all."

He gave her a fake laugh—'Ferret Boy' seemed like a perfectly good name to him.

She frowned a little, and looked at him strangely. A small, awkward silence ensued.

"What's up with you, Kingsley?" She finally asked.

"W-what do you mean?" He replied apprehensively, trailing a scratch on the table's wooden surface with his index.

She didn't answer. There _was_ something up with him; she knew it and he knew it, but if he didn't want to confide in her, then she wasn't going to prod.

Hermione continued to analyze him with those hypnotizing almond-shaped eyes, making him feel much more of a prey than the predator he was supposed to be.

He looked up to meet her stare but as he fixed his dark gaze on her surprisingly even darker one, he realized it had been a mistake.

He suddenly had the most urgent need to kiss her senseless.

Those rosy lips looked soft and sweet…

_Too young!_

Yes, too young, but so, so lovely.

He leaned over just a bit. Just a bit.

_Eighteen!_

Yes, eighteen and she smelt like jasmines.

Maybe he could lean over just a little closer. Just a litt—

_This is wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG!_

"G'night, 'Mione," he whispered quickly, and in three long strides he was out of the kitchen. He then silently ran upstairs to seek refuge in his room, wanting to get far away from Hermione Granger's confused dark eyes and her teasing white little sundress.

"_Coward_," Alastor Moody's snickered from somewhere in the shadows as he closed his door that night.

- - - -

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**A/N**: Just a little plot bunny that wasn't letting me study for my biology exam. Plus, HG/KS fics are almost none-existent, except for Inell's of course. Why it is so, being Kingsley such a mysterious, unstudied character, I'll never know._

_Anyways, please **do** review!_


	2. A Celebrated Promotion

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**II**

**A CELEBRATED PROMOTION**

* * *

"_There are several good protections against temptation, but the surest is cowardice."_

_-** Mark Twain.**_

* * *

- - - -

Kingsley lay on his bed that night; a mess of limbs and sheets. He had tossed and turned for a couple of hours now, but it was hopeless.

He couldn't sleep.

Bloody Mad-Eye! How had he even _known_ about his… _infatuation_?

Oh, right. That damned magical eye.

And his not so subtle staring.

What the hell had he meant anyways? Coward? He wasn't a _coward_! If something he should be given Order of Merlin for so bravely resisting Hermione's charms…

God knew it had _not_ been easy.

He kicked the stupid blankets away and turned to face the door.

Was she still down there?

Yes. She must still be staring out the window like she did every night. Kingsley knew for a fact she wasn't actually _watching _anything; her mind was furiously working on plans, strategies, ideas…

But then there were those nights when she was feeling depressed. Then, she would think of her parents; the mother and father she had sent away to America, the man and the woman she had grown so alienated from, she often had a hard time recalling their favorite books, their birthdays, their age…

She never thought about the future, though. She never thought about dreams. Hermione Granger was not driven by hope, like she once was, but by pride—you can run out of hope pretty fast on a war, but Hermione would never run out of pride.

Kingsley puffed out his pillow a bit, smiling slightly as he remembered the young witch telling him she believed Death Eaters to be ignorant inbreeds, Voldemort to be a hypocritical coward, and that she point blank _refused_ to be deemed as inferior by such 'mediocre beings'.

Shoulders squared, chin held high, hair in cute disarray, and a ferocious gleam in her dark eyes; she had looked adorable. He had laughed at her insolence, but he understood: how could someone ever consider muggles worthless, when from them came The Hermione Granger herself?

Yes, she must be downstairs. Or maybe she had gone to bed already. Perhaps, like him, she was tossing around, trying to fall asleep.

If she was in bed, then she would be curled up next to that lucky bastard of a cat, Crookshanks. She would be wearing what she always wore to sleep—one of Potter's boxers and one of Weasley's shirts. He knew because he often had seen her sneak into the boys' bedroom wearing just that. She always went to them for comfort after particularly bad nightmares. She considers them her family, he suspects. Sometimes Kingsley thinks she feels ashamed for loving them more than her parents.

Those stupid kids didn't know how damned lucky they were.

Yes, Kingsley decided as he turned once more. She must be in her bed. Awake, like him. Chocolate hair sprawled over her pillow. Coffee-colored eyes wide open. Slender arms petting her cat. Long, slim legs entangled in her sheets...

Fuck. He would _never_ be able to fall asleep now.

Kingsley tossed a bit more and tried to ignore his increasingly painful hard on.

Bloody hell. This was so fucking wrong. Even _thinking_ of her like this was wrong. She was so young, so pure.

Of course, he knew she was not—and probably had never been—naïve. And he didn't expect her to be innocent; they had all seen too many murders, _committed_ too many murders, to remain innocent. He didn't suppose she was a virgin still, either. They could die any day, after all.

Kingsley felt a low, feral growl arising from the back of his throat.

He presumed Weasley had done the honors—no, not Weasley; Hermione's relationship with the redhead had ended before it could begin, and they hadn't parted on very good terms. In fact, she had mostly ignored him until just a few weeks ago.

Potter, then. Yes, that made sense. Those two understood each other better than most married couples, although Hermione had once told him she would never be able to get romantically involved with The Boy Who Lived. They knew each other too much.

Plus, Harry had already been through so much, he needed someone simple. A nice, easy-going girl. Maybe he would get back together with Weasley's sister after the war.

That didn't mean Harry wouldn't seek physical comfort in Hermione though.

Maybe they were together right now; maybe he was sliding his own boxers down her legs, maybe he was caressing her soft breasts, kissing her full lips, sucking her white neck, inhaling her sweet scent, sliding into her warm, wet, _tight—_

He came with a grunt, spilling all over his tangled sheets. He felt no pleasure, though; only a dull, ephemeral sense of release. His right hand fell back to his thigh tiredly, and as he muttered a cleaning charm he felt—as he had last night, and the night before— like the filthiest man on Earth.

* * *

Kingsley and Tonks left extra-early that morning, so he didn't have a chance to see the object of his obsession. They had been called in for an urgent meeting; Scrimgeour's successor had messed up big time with a rescuing mission last week in Surrey, and had been let go.

This meant they would no longer have an inept boss breathing down their necks.

It also meant a new the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was lacking a rather important member; a Head.

Moreover, it meant all Aurors had been dragged out of bed at day break for a solemn ceremony in which their new leader would be chosen.

They could only hope for a tolerably competent one.

* * *

"Wotcher, friends and Order members!" A hyper Nymphadora Tonks saluted the congregation of people sitting in Grimmauld's living room. "We have news!"

"Good news?" Molly Weasley asked hopefully, trotting from the kitchen.

"Super good!" Tonks replied grinning and jumping up and down, shoulder-length electric blue hair bouncing with her.

"Well, then, out with it!" Ginny Weasley said, laying her Witch Weekly magazine aside.

"We have a new Head Auror!"

"Oh Merlin, please tell me it's not that infuriating fool McKensy!" Mr. Weasley pleaded. Actually, Oscar McKensy was a decent Auror. Arthur had a grudge against the man, though, seeing that he had borrowed and lost his favorite collection of muggle movies.

"It's not McKensy," Tonks assured Mr. Weasley, "But it's an infuriating fool alright," she ended, winking at Kingsley.

"Hey!" Kingsley protested, glaring at the witch in mock offense.

"_You_ were made Head Auror?" Draco Malfoy asked snottily from his spot by the fireplace, feet resting on the table before him.

Kingsley glared at 'Ferret-Boy'.

"Yes, actually," he answered darkly with a sneer of his own, "You have a problem with that?"

The blond opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it when he noticed the older man's broad shoulders and muscular built.

"I thought so," Kingsley muttered, smirking at the boy. Ginny and Ron joined him.

"I thinks it's brilliant," Lupin proclaimed with a smile, "it will be much easier for the Order to obtain information and carry out plans now that we have a member in such a powerful position."

Kingsley, who no longer held a grudge against the werewolf, smiled at him in gratitude.

"Well, congratulations, Mr. Shacklebolt," Ron said before resuming his solitary chess game.

Mr. Shacklebolt. Now _that_ made him feel old. At least Hermione called him by his name. He would feel even more of a lecherous pig if she didn't.

"Yes, congratulation, darling!" Molly gushed characteristically, "oh, I'll just have to cook something extra-special for tonight's dinner!"

"Now _that's _a wonderful idea, mum," Ron grinned. Ginny swatted the back of his head with her issue of Witch Weekly.

"Is food all you ever think of?" she inquired exasperatedly.

"Ginny! Would you please stop smacking me in the head?"

"Why? I can't make you any stupider than you already are..."

"Hey! Stop right there, Gin—"

Kingsley and Tonks took this as their cue to leave the room. They cared a great deal for the Weasleys, but they were Aurors and had to work with a clear head; they couldn't afford a migraine for spending too much time listening to a crowd of bickering redheads.

"Kingsley?" A melodic voice called from the lower steps of the stairs.

Kingsley looked up to see Hermione Granger in sweat pants and a tank top, leaning against the banister, a charming smile grazing her features.

"Head Auror! I was just coming down to get us a cup of tea when I heard!"

_Us_. That had to mean her and _Potter_. Everyone else was either out or in the living room.

Would You-Know-Who and the Order be terribly upset if _he_ murdered the Wonder Boy?

"Yeah, Hermione! It was unanimous too!" Tonks added with a mischievous smirk, then winked at Kingsley cheekily.

Hermione beamed at him extra-brightly, "Merlin, Kingsley, congratulations!" she said and threw her arms around his neck, enveloping him in a tight hug.

Heart beating madly, eyes open in surprise, Kingsley stood there for a second; unable to move. His arms then traveled to her waist on their own accord, pulling her closer. His brain was still too stunned by the delicious feeling of her soft curves against his body to function properly, so he decided he must be under a particularly strong Imperius curse.

Imperiused or not, his eyes flickered closed and for a moment he allowed himself to relive his dreams in which Hermione would hug him and kiss him after proclaiming her undying love.

He buried his face on her chocolate curls and enjoyed the smell of her jasmine scent.

He willed for the moment to freeze, for time to stop, for seconds not to tick; he was getting the distinct impression that he was getting dangerously close to crossing that implicit line that made this a friendly hug and not something… more.

He was loosing his mind having her this close and he could distinctly feel the blood rushing to his groin when Hermione grazed his lower back with her small hand.

"Congratulations," she repeated in a small whisper, tilting her chin to stare at him as she let him go.

He felt a wave of cold hit him hard, as though someone had pulled a blanket off him. An overwhelming sadness constricted his throat as he realized he would probably never get another excuse to hold her again.

"Thank you," he managed to say, sounding proud and in control to anyone that didn't know him personally.

Tonks was standing by the stairs though, staring at them and sending him a half-worried, half-pitying look.

Whatever. Let her stare. Let them all stare. He didn't care anymore. His body ached badly, and he needed her back-- her softness pressed against him again.

He took a step away from the girl, as though physical distance between them would dampen the temptation of reaching out for her. Only then did he dare another look at her, and realized she was smiling at him, biting her lower lip slightly.

He suppressed a shiver.

"Aren't you happy?" she asked, tilting his head in confusion. She had picked up on his disheartened mood. Well, that was quite odd. He hadn't expected her to know him well enough to see through his masks.

"Happy?" he inquired absentmindedly, trying to recall the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest and berating himself at the same time for doing so.

She frowned. "Well, yes. One is usually happy when promoted," she said slowly, a teasing smirk on her face.

He leaned against the cool wall and smirked back.

"Oh, right. Head Auror." He racked a hand through his short black hair and managed to smile a little at her, "Yes, I'm quite pleased," he concluded.

It was true enough. Being Head Auror was a prestigious and challenging job. Plus, his paycheck was going to be significantly bigger this month.

"You're thirty aren't you? You must be the youngest Head in a long time!" She continued excitedly, a few brown locks flying freeing themselves from her loose updo as she turned from him to Tonks for confirmation.

"That's right. The youngest in the last few decades," Tonks announced proudly, waving at her friend as though he were her doing.

"I'm thirty-two," A depressed Kingsley corrected quietly to himself.

He was heard though.

Hermione turned back to him, giving him one of her lovely smiles, "You're still very young," she assured him and patted him on the cheek before sweeping past him and leaving the room.

He breathed in her perfume as he raised a hand to his cheek. "Not young enough, though," he muttered silently.

Tonks stared at him; lime green eyes alight in worry.

- - - -

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_A/N_**_: Are you liking it so far? Please review, I really need the feedback on this one! Oh, and by the way, I'm thinking of making this a three-piece. __What do you think?_


	3. Time for Training

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**III**

**TIME FOR TRAINING**

**

* * *

**

"_Most men aren't nearly as brave as they think they are when faced with an angry woman."_

_- **Anonymous**_

* * *

- - - -

_PAFF!_

"Merlin, Tonks!" Kingsley cried as he reached for his wand to levitate the bookshelf that had just fallen on his friend. "You alright?" he asked, reaching out for her hand.

"Ye-ugh!" the young woman stuck her tongue out trying—and failing—to get the dust off of it. "Bugger! Why didn't my stupid family bother to keep their stupid Dark Arts books clean!?" she grumbled as she was brought onto her feet. 

"You should probably try not to be crushed to death by the furniture, you know, it would be quite an embarrassing death for an Auror." Kingsley smirked as he placed the offending bookshelf back in its place.

"Oh, do shut up," Tonks grumbled, dusting of her hands in her black cargo pants, "have you found anything on the subject?"

Kingsley sighed as he gazed back at the large eighteenth century table that furnished the middle of the library. A few dozens of ancient-looking tomes rested on top of it. 

"The hard part is not finding something on the _subject_, Tonks, it's reading through all of those bloody books to find something we can actually _use_," he explained tiredly.

"Preferably something that doesn't involve massive orgies or human sacrifices…" Tonks added in conversationally as she picked one of the books and skimmed through it. She made a face at the rather gruesome pictures. 

"Yeah… that's even harder," he noted dully as he inspected a potion that required the heart of a still living virgin girl.

How do you keep people alive after ripping out their hearts out, anyways?

Turning the page, he decided he would've been better off not knowing.

"Bloody hell, this is disgusting!" he said, angrily shoving the book away from the rest.

"I agree," Tonks answered, closing her own book. "And we'll never get through all of these alone," she stated, sitting in one of the tall ebony chairs around the table.

Kingsley sighed once again, "Why do the kids need to learn about soul-vanishing magic, anyways?"

They both took a seat in the tall ebony chairs around the table before Kingsley sighed once again, "Why do the kids need to learn about soul-vanishing magic, anyways?"Tonks raised a canary yellow eyebrow at the '_kids'_ part, but said nothing. 

"I don't know, Kingsley, but Hermione made it clear that it was pretty damn important," He winced at the girl's name but recovered swiftly and Tonks carried on as if nothing. "She also made it clear that she was against Harry's decision to keep the whole affair a secret, they apparently had a row about it."

Kingsley raised his eyes, regarding her with more interest "_Oh_?" he said, fighting to keep his excitement out from his voice.

He didn't quite manage.

Tonks sent him a knowing smirk but, once again, said nothing. "Yeah, but she apparently managed to convince him to let her ask for our help… provided that we don't ask questions."

Kingsley frowned, "But why would _Hermione_ need our help for _research_?" he asked, as he stood up to place the discarded books back in an empty shelf. 

"I don't know, I got the feeling they were kind of in a hurry to do… whatever they want to do with the soul-vanishing spell…" Tonks bit her lip pensievely, "I also heard Ron screaming at Harry a couple of days ago, he said something about 'destroying the bloody things' and both seemed kind of peaky."

"That's all they said?" Kingsley asked, taking his seat again. This sounded serious. Very serious.

And very dangerous. In fact, he wasn't sure he wanted Hermione to partake in it. But then, it wasn't his place to prohibit her from anything, was it?

Dammit.

He sighed.

"Yes, Hermione came into the room after that and smacked them for not casting a silencing charm," Tonks carried on, as she toyed with a strand of yellow hair, lengthening it as she spoke.

Kingsley smiled a little. That sounded like Hermione alright.

"Do you get the feeling this has something to do with their 'little secret missions'?" he asked, quoting Mad-Eye.

"I do." agreed Tonks, and turning to look at him better, continued, "and your lover-girl hinted so too. She said this was a _priority _if we wanted to win this war."

"If she's willing to tell us so much against Potter's express wishes, then this must be _really_ important," he said with a bitter smile. Tonks reached for his hand but he stood up quickly. "So, when do we start?" he asked, nodding at the pile of books lying next to them.

Tonks remained quiet for a second.

Fishy that, the woman was never quiet.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow, "Tonks, is there something you're not telling me?" he asked her dangerously.

"Er…" Tonks suddenly seemed to find her bitten-down fingernails extremely interesting, "you see, Kings… well, Hermione wants to get this done by tomorrow and… um, I kinda, sorta got a night shift today, so, you see…"

Kingsley felt anxiousness rise on his gut. "You're meaning to tell me, Nymphadora, that I'll be working on this with Hermione?" He inquired, his voice croaking a little.

Tonks nodded sheepishly.

"Alone?"

Another nod.

"T-_tonight_?"

"Oh, gee, Kings, look at the time, we've got training!" Tonks said rapidly, barely glancing at the intimidating clock set on the furthest corner of Grimmauld's library, before fleeing the room.

"Coward," Kingsley grumbled quietly, feeling too sorry for himself to identify the feeling of dèja-vu.

* * *

With Hogwarts closed and the war raging out there, McGonagall had seen it fit for Moody, Tonks and Kingsley to train Potter and those that had accompanied him to that half-cocked mission at the Ministry. It was nothing fancy, just the basic moves and spells they taught to baby Aurors in their first two years in the Academy.

And that was why Tonks and Kingsley were now standing before the teenage Order of the Phoenix brigade dressed in gym clothes.

Moody had taken Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood aside, and was teaching them strong shielding charms. They were both doing pretty decently, except that Lovegood's radish earrings kept getting tangled with her hair when she failed the spell and tried to duck Moody's hexes.

Honestly, radish?

So that left Tonks and him with Ron Weasley, his sister, Ferret Boy, and the Boy Who Lived. They made quite an odd picture.

Ron was wearing Fred's muggle gym clothes, which looked decidedly too small for him. A couple of weeks ago Malfoy had teased him about it, resulting in the blond getting a broken nose.

Kingsley couldn't have been prouder.

Ginny Weasley was wearing tight shorts and a hot pink shirt reading 'GRR!' across her breasts.

Across the room, Moody was having trouble refraining himself from sneering at the girl.

Potter wore a grey shirt and black slacks, and Kingsley was currently feeling quite satisfied of his own more muscular frame.

The first few weeks, Malfoy had had to be lent muggle clothes since he—quite obviously—didn't own any. He had whined for forty minutes straight about how 'Malfoys don't wear second-hand clothing' but had shut up when Hermione had pointed out that "Malfoys don't wear muggle clothings either, so you're quite welcome to train in robes if you aren't comfortable."

He had grumbled in response and remained blissfully quiet after that.

He still hadn't been too happy, though. And he had been even less happy that person lending him the clothes was The Chosen One himself.

Of course, Harry hadn't been thrilled either.

In the end it was Hermione who solved the problem. She had left one morning after having a waffle thrown in the head by Potter. Malfoy had been standing a couple of feet away from her, and hey, who said seekers had a good aim?

Anyways, she had glared at the terrified boys with Avada Kedavra in her eyes and left the house without a word. Molly had run after her but she had apparated away already. Potter had called her to her cellyphone thingy and she had said she was fine and would be back for lunch.

She had come back a couple of hours later with four bags reading _ADIDAS_, and _NIKE_. She had thrown them to Malfoy's feet and said "there! And green doesn't suit you at all so I bough black, grey and navy."

Malfoy had flushed angrily, "I'll have you know, Granger," he had started, "that Malfoys don't take charit— _oooh_, do these shoes have a cushioning charm?"

And so, Ferret Boy was now before him, looking very smug in his new clothes. He had to admit, Hermione had a good taste in male clothing.

This was just his second time training the 'kids', actually, since he didn't have as much free time these days as Tonks and Moody. It was a good thing Hermione hadn't showed up for this one, though, since the last time she had almost given him a—

"Hello there! I'm sorry I'm late; Mr. Weasley was renewing the wards and he needed an extra wand." Hermione Granger said as she swept in, smiling that award-winning smile of hers and wearing tight yoga pants and a white tank top underneath which he could discern a blue sport bra.

—heart attack. 

She nodded at Tonks and walked to stand between Malfoy and Potter—probably to keep them from killing each other.

Or so Kingsley hoped.

Both boys casually inched towards the girl.

"Did I miss something?" Hermione asked him, gathering her shiny dark brown hair in a high ballerina- style knot.

"N-no, nothing," he answered.

Kingsley was very proud of the evenness of his voice considering his heart beat had accelerated to that of a wholly terrified rabbit's.

"We were just starting, 'Mione," Potter assured her warmly.

The Auror felt a twinge of jealousy, but his appearance remained impassible.

Moody, from across the room, chuckled at nothing in particular.

Damned magical eye.

"Well then, let's begin!" Tonks exclaimed, sensing his discomfort.

"Right," he said, attempting to concentrate on the training at hand and _not_ on Hermione's um… womanly attributes. "Why don't you guys form two lines and Tonks and I will fire at you and you'll duck the spells. No wands."

"Great idea, you want to be able to stay alive for a little while if you're disarmed," Tonks interjected.

Ron snorted but was interrupted by his sister's smack in the head.

"Oi, Ginny, stop it!"

"Well, I wouldn't have to stop anything if you—"

Kingsley sighed. These were going to be a long couple of hours.

* * *

"Good job, Ron. Try to get up on your feet faster, though." Kingsley said as he lowered his wand. The boy nodded and returned to his spot between Harry and his sister while massaging his aching bum.

"Are we ever going to do _real _training?" Malfoy asked arrogantly and Kingsley couldn't repress a smirk— the blond was utterly useless without a wand.

"Stop whining, Draco," Hermione chastised him as she charmed her hair so that the knot stayed put.

Instead of telling her off, Malfoy smirked proudly at Harry, who glared at him murderously. She had called him 'Draco'.

Kingsley felt like he could, for once, commiserate with the black-haired teen.

Rolling her eyes, Tonks interjected, "Okay, how about a little one on one training. Kings, could you take Draco, Ron and Harry? I'll take Ginny and Hermione."

Kingsley nodded and sent Tonks a grateful look. It looked as if Tonks had picked the girls and left him the boys but he knew she had arranged the groups so that he wouldn't have to fight Hermione. For that he was thankful; he didn't reckon he would be able to concentrate on the fight. Not with her wearing those tight pants anyways.

"Fe-_Malfoy_, you go first," he said, twirling his wand expertly.

Malfoy glared at him

He smirked.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

_ "Expelliarmus!"_ Tonks yelled, claiming Ginny's wand and snatching it from the air with her right hand. The redhead sighed in defeat as she pulled herself onto her feet, rubbing her sore arm. "Okay, you're fine, Ginny. Just try to improve your reflexes and –" She stopped as the grandfather clock in the hall dinged six times. "Oh, bugger, it's six already!"

Kingsley, who had just stunned Malfoy and was feeling very smug, turned to her. "So?"

"So, I've got the night shift, remember?" she explained, as she magicked some clean clothing on and braided her buttercup yellow hair. She sighed, looking pretty miserable "Six PM to six AM. Thank you very much, _boss_."

Kingsley grinned. "Be a good little Auror and I'll give you a free weekend for you to spend with that werewolf of yours."

"Hmph," his friend said, but her currently hazel eyes shone in appreciation and guilt.

_Guilt?_

But why the—_wait._

… she had only fought Ginny, and that meant…

A harassed-looking Hermione was standing a few feet away, enervating Malfoy despite Potter and Weasley's loud protests.

... that meant he would have to duel Hermione Granger.

"Sorry, Kingsley," Tonks whispered softly as she crossed the room and left.

Kingsley turned to stare at Hermione warily. The girl, oblivious to his staring, sighed and closed her eyes, ignoring her bickering friends. As she massaged her temples, her pink lips sketched a dreamy sort of smile.

Damn her. The muggleborn was truly the most enchanting woman he had ever met.

Quite suddenly, she flashed those cat-like eyes of hers open; fixing her impossibly dark stare on him.

Kingsley's breath hitched.

She smiled. It wasn't her usually brilliant smile, though. Nor it was that sad smile, the one she reserved for when she was feeling unhappy.

Nope, this smile was nothing like those.

It was a dangerous, teasing, naughty smile that was dangerously close of a smirk.

He felt like running away. Running away…

What was wrong with him! He was Head Auror and she was just an eighteen-year-old girl! Moody was right, he was a coward.

He still felt like running away, though. Either that or sweeping her into his arms and test just how naughty she could get...

_Bad thoughts!_

Kingsley was so wrapped up on his inner moral dilemmas; he hadn't noticed Hermione was actually talking to him.

_Dammit._

"Sorry, Hermione. What did you say?"

"I said," she answered, her voice mellifluous as she approached him, inadvertently silencing Potter, Malfoy, and both Weasleys. "It's my turn."

But, but, she was wearing tight pants! And a sports bra! And she was still smiling that irritating little smile of hers! Bloody hell, how would he concentrate on spell-casting!? Sure he was a great Auror, but then Death Eaters didn't turn him on!

Worse, how would he bring himself to hurt her? He knew she wasn't going to go down without a fight. He had seen her dueling Mad-Eye the other day and she had lasted a long time. And Kingsley was certain that if it hadn't been for Ron distracting her as he entered the room, she would have gone on for even longer.

Hermione twirled her wand expertly, a trick learnt from Bill Weasley. "You ready, Kingsley?" she asked.

_No,_ Kingsley decided. _He was most definitely not ready._

Not with her wearing those tight little pants, anyways.

_- - - -_

**_TBC_**

* * *

_**A/N**: Thank you to my reviewers! Every one of you makes me smile. For those who haven't reviewed; guys, I know it's a pain, but come on, you're only a click away of making me very, very happy. Just leave me a few words and tell me how you're liking the fic so far. Please. __I am not above pouting like a child.! _

_The duel and the over-night study next chapter! (and Kingsley being a coward again... )_

_Cheers,_

_Gueneviere._


	4. Constant Vigilance

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**IV**

**CONSTANT VIGILANCE**

* * *

"_O, the blood more stirs__  
To rouse a lion than to start a hare!__"_

_**- **__**Shakespeare; King Henry IV,**__** Act I, scene iii.**_

**_

* * *

_**

- - - -

Kingsley closed his eyes for a second. As he blinked them open he noticed Hermione peering at him curiously, head tilted to the right.

"Sure thing, Hermione," he replied in a cool, suave voice. "Bring it on."

He smirked for good measure, fervently hoping he wasn't acting too much like Ferret Boy.

Hermione just grinned and shook her head. "Honestly, Kingsley, you're as bad as the boys," she said, motioning towards the squabbling Draco, Harry and Ron.

Well, that meant she didn't deem him as a father figure, right? Which was a good thing, wasn't it? Except he didn't want her to think he was an immature brat, of course.

"_Stupefy_!" cried Hermione, effectively interrupting his fascinating conversation with himself. Only his fast reflexes saved him from what would have been a very embarrassing defeat for the Ministry of Magic's newly appointed Head Auror.

"For Merlin's sake boy!" exclaimed Mad-Eye, who had finished with his group already. "I trained your lazy arse! Try not to embarrass me now!"

He was calling him 'boy'.

Damn.

It was never good news when Alastor Moody conveniently forgot your name.

Kingsley sent a half-hearted "_Impedimenta_" towards Hermione, but the girl predictably side-stepped it with ease.

"Getting rusty, are we?" Draco Malfoy called after him with a smug smirk plastered across his pale face.

Ooh. That stung.

"And yet he knocked you out cold in a minute, huh Malfoy?" Potter commented from were he sat next to a recently arrived Neville.

"_Furunculus_!" Hermione cried out, cutting the boy's banter short. His hastily cast _Protego_ barely resisted the strength of her spell.

Mad-Eye Moody nodded appreciatively in her direction, then turned towards him and smirked. His blue non-magical eye gleamed in mockery. "Coward," it seemed to say.

Jaw set, Kingsley rose his wand to try again. This time, his jelly-legs jinx did hit her, but she got rid of it with a flick of her wand.

Hermione huffed and narrowed her dark eyes in irritation. "Come on, Kingsley, I'm a big girl!"

_Yes, and I'm painfully aware of it_, the Auror thought as he watched Hermione bounce from one feet to the other, her sports bra not doing its job properly at all…

Mad-Eye sniggered, breaking him from his reverie.

"_Rictusempra_!"

The jinx was easily reflected by Hermione's shielding charm.

"Come on, be serious! I can take it!" the girl demanded once more with an eager grin.

Ah well, at least she thought he was going easy on her and didn't simply consider him an inept fool.

_Focus, now, Shacklebolt, you lazy old letch!_"_Stupefy_! _Stupefy_! _Tarangtella_!" Kingsley cried suddenly, casting the spells consecutively.Hermione managed to deflect the first hex and duck the second, but the third hit her as she tried to get on her feet.

_Score!_

"_Incarcerous_!"

Dammit, he had forgotten the chit still had her wand. Her wobbly legs ruined her aim though.

"_Avis_!"

_Note to self: no aim needed to conjure a flock of angry little birds_, Kingsley thought as he defended himself against the creatures. Hermione seemed especially talented with that particular spell, though; the things were positively _vicious_.

He distantly heard Malfoy snigger and Hermione perform the counter-curse to the '_Tarangtella_' curse. He was occupied banishing the nasty little feather balls, though, and so—

"_Incarcerous_!"

This time her aim was perfect and Kingsley found himself bound to the ground by thick ropes from his mid-arm down to his waist.

Crap.

Malfoy looked positively festive, as though Hermione had extracted revenge in his name. Potter and Weasley just looked surprised; Weasley's sister looked bored; Longbottom looked terrified; and Lovegood looked stoned.

Mad-Eye just shook his head, bony fingers massaging the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Hermione approached him with a grin. "It's your own fault, you know," she said as she bent down next to him to pick up his wand, giving Kingsley a panoramic view of her cleavage. "You shouldn't have gone easy on—_ahh_!"

She fell down hard as Kingsley made her trip with his right foot. The rest of the teenagers gasped in surprise, but the Auror paid them no mind. Twisting his confined hands, Kingsley summoned his wand from where it lay, a few feet away.

"_Finite Incantatem_!" he whispered, banishing the ropes constricting him in record time.

"Now that's much better, Shacklebolt!" Moody praised him with a proud grin, before he turned to reprimand Hermione. "_Constant vigilance_, Granger. The duel isn't over until it's over!"

"Very wise," Hermione growled from her spot on the floor. She had sprained her ankle as she tripped with Kingsley's foot and she now lay on the floor, hurt and wandless.

Kingsley approached her and extended her a hand. She scowled, but took it. Her hand looked so small, pale and frail in his.

Genuinely sorry that she had gotten hurt, Kingsley smiled at her tentatively. Hermione smiled back, but her smile was all wrong somehow.

It looked… _mischievous_?

He was suddenly pulled to the ground, and in a couple of swift movements Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head Auror, found himself pinned down and effectively incapacitated by schoolgirl Hermione Granger.

Shit.

The girl smirked. "Constant vigilance, eh?" She whispered in his ear, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine.

It took all of his self-control not to succumb to the overpowering desire to pull her down for a kiss.

Dammit, how could this little slip of a girl make him all jumpy at thirty-two, when women his age hadn't made him blush at fifteen?

But, she was so close; so close that her body was pressed against his. So close that he felt every one of her curves. So close and her face so near to his that several errant tendrils of brown hair grazed his dark cheek...

He could count the number of freckles sprinkled across her nose, he could hear the fast beating of her heart, he could even smell her honey shampoo and her jasmine perfume if he tried…She seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for her smirk had slipped, and her magnetic dark eyes had fallen to his lips.

Was he imagining this? Yes, her ragged breath could well be due to the physical exertion… But this couldn't all be mere wishful thinking of his part, could it?

Her grip on his arms loosened, and they made their way to her waist as if by instinct. Her small hands went to rest to his neck, and Kingsley was suddenly painfully aware that any small movement from Hermione's part would inevitably let her know just _how much _he liked her…

"Are you guys over yet? Dinner's ready!" The deep voice of Grimmauld Place's resident werewolf snapped them out from their trance.

Hermione jumped off him as if he had quite suddenly caught on fire, and Kingsley found he was unable to do anything but incorporate himself. Feeling as though he had just been hit in the head, the Auror glanced around to see Remus Lupin standing by the door, looking expectant.

Expectant, but not murderous.

_Good_, his adled brain commented dumbly. That meant he had come in after Hermione had peeled herself off him.

Hermione herself was sitting in the ground a couple of meters away, a deer-in-the-headlights expression directed at a gawking Neville—the rest of the kids seemed oblivious to what had just transpired, and were rushing out the room to secure a good spot at the dinner table.

"That's it, hurry up; Molly cooked lasagna tonight!" Remus commented as he helped a shell-shocked Neville on his feet. "There you go Neville, now run along."

Longbottom turned his face to stare at his former Professor as though he had just sprouted a second head, spared a scared a glance at Kingsley, and then bolted at the door without looking back.

Remus frowned pensively. "Was it something I said?"

"No, Lupin, you just have an impeccable timing," Mad-Eye grumbled in exasperation as he swept by him moodily.

Fortunately unable to determine what the old Auror meant by that remark, Remus shrugged and turned to Hermione and Kingsley. "And you two? Aren't you coming down for dinner?"

Hermione made a small noise which the Marauder was clearly unable to distinguish as either affirmative or otherwise.

Kingsley was slightly more eloquent.

_Slightly._

"Uh… _shower_!" he croaked as he scrambled on his feet.

Remembering Hermione's injury, he muttered a hurried, "sprained ankle," pointing vaguely in her direction before walking past the older man and leaving the room in a hurry.

_Yes, a shower was in order_, Kingsley thought as he pushed a Weasley twin out of the way and made a dash for the bathroom.

A _cold_ shower.

- - - -

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**A/N**__: Remember how I told you this chapter would include the over-night studying? Well, I lied. Lol. The duel just dragged on and this seemed like a good enough place to stop. I hope you enjoyed it, I'm quite honestly not too pleased with it but that might be because I know what's going to happen and I'm eager to get to it._

_Ah, someone asked me what this quote had to do with the chapter. The answer is: not much. Lol, it's just hard to find a quote on cowardice that applies to every chapter. Anyways, in my mind, this quote is related to Kingsley's thought: "_how could this little slip of a girl make him all jumpy at thirty-two, when women his age hadn't made him blush at fifteen?"

_Anyways, please review and give me some feedback! _


	5. Of Bananas and Eggplants

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**V**

**OF BANANAS AND EGGPLANTS**

* * *

"_Even cowards can endure hardship; only the brave can endure suspense."_

— _**Mignon McLaughlin**_

* * *

- - - -

Kingsley left the bathroom looking every bit the cool and collected wizard that a Head Auror should be. Indeed, he felt ready to persuade traditionalist Wizengamot members, train bumbling rookies, battle big bad Death Eaters, and generally deal with _anything_ life threw his way—

"I saved you some dinner."

—_anything_ but a certain dark-haired teenage witch, who now sat by the kitchen's coffee table waving hear right hand at the plate of lasagna that lay before her.

Kingsley smiled shakily and sat in front of her. "Thanks," he replied in that deep voice he always used to pick up chicks.

_No! Bad Kingsley! You can't pick up Hermione Granger!_

Said girl beamed at him and slid the plate to him. "Anytime," she said.

Grabbing the fork, Kingsley took a bite of Molly's lasagna. It was as delicious as always.

And it was still warm.

He looked up to meet Hermione's dark gaze, his heart skipping a beat as he did.

Meeting her gaze seemed to have become a big no-no as of late.

"Heating charm," she answered his unasked question with a smile, her beautiful eyes shining with something not unlike nervousness as she gazed into his, apparently looking for something. She seemed not to find it, and she swiftly fixed her gaze on the DADA book that lay on her lap.

She was nervous?

_Well, of course, she must think I'm a dirty old pedophile__ likely to jump her if found alone,_ Kingsley thought sullenly.

_And I__ guess I sort of am,_ he concluded rather bitter.

"Oh," was all he could say.

He sighed deeply.

Hermione massaged her temples.

"Listen, Hermione—"

"Kingsley—"

"Yes?" They both asked at the same time.

Hermione smiled anxiously and Kingsley let out a fake chuckle.

"Look about—" Kingsley tried to begin again.

"Neville promised not to say anything." Hermione blurted out, the words tripping over each other so that Kingsley had to spend a few seconds deciphering what she had just said.

"Oh. Good," he replied dumbly.

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

She bit her lower lip and stared at him with anxiety.

Suddenly, he saw a way out; a way to ignore this incident and hopefully preserve his tentative friendship with the young woman.

He would never have her as a girlfriend; that much he knew, but he would be damned if he lost her as a friend.

"Good," he repeated. "Because nothing happened, right?"

"Right." Hermione echoed hurriedly, nodding as the Auror before her focused in finishing his dinner and missed the gleam of disappointment that for a second flashed in the coffee-colored eyes he loved so much.

"So… um, I'll help you research tonight," Kingsley said, desperately trying to change the subject.

Hermione nodded, her eyes fixed on her book.

"Er… Tonks and I laid apart the books we should take a look at," he continued uneasily.

The girl nodded once more and Kingsley thought she was going to leave it at that when she suddenly sighed and met his stare.

Once again his heart beat went all funny, and he swallowed his lasagna with difficulty.

"That sounds good," Hermione said, her voice serious and her eyes grave. "Kingsley, we need to find something we can use soon—_very_ soon."

"I'll do everything in my power to help you, Hermione" Kingsley replied automatically earning for himself an extra-brilliant smile from the girl.

Dammit, was he blushing?

An awkward sort of silence fell over the pair as Kingsley once more concentrated on Molly's lasagna.

Hermione tapped her fingers on the table impatiently, when quite suddenly a genial idea occurred to her.

It was too bad poor Kingsley didn't look up to see a dangerous smirk tugging on Hermione's pretty lips.

Not one to loose time, Hermione stretched across the table to grab a piece of fruit from the crystal bowl that lay to Kingsley's right.

Said man suddenly found himself face to face—er, well not really to _face_—with the young witch's bosom and thanked Merlin she had had enough sense to pull a wine-colored sweater over that tight little shirt she had trained in.

Hermione's hand hovered over the apples…

… over the bananas…

… and the peaches…

… then back over the apples…

_Please don't pick the banana, please don't pick the banana, please if there's a god, don't let her pick—_

"The bananas are looking rather delicious, don't you think?" Hemione said lightly, her eyes wide and innocent as she picked the biggest one of the bowl. "Just look at this one!" She added as she sat down on her seat to peal it.

Breathing raggedly, Kingsley nodded and damned his luck.

She slowly raised the banana and sank her teeth onto it, taking her first bite.

Kingsley jumped a bit on his seat when she did, trying his best to look at something else, anything but her pretty little mouth around the—

_The coffee table really needed to be replaced soon…_

Hermione rested her elbows on the table and watched him intently, grinning inwardly as she noticed that Kingsley's right hand—the one that held on to the fork—was balled into a white-knuckled fist.

_... It was scratched all over, and there were several carvings on it—oh, look at that—_

That stupid minx was now swallowing extra slow...

— _HP&GW was carved deep on the lower-left border of the __table, a shaky heart around it. Someone had scratched over Harry Potter's initials… _

_Poor Ginny Weasley._

"Hmm… yeah, really good," Hermione commented, her eyes sparkling in mischievousness as she waved the fruit in front of him. "Want a piece?"

"Eh… n-no, thanks," he managed to croak. The girl raised an eyebrow at him.

"Um, I just don't feel like it," he told her, stretching his hand to make a grab for a random piece of fruit, anything but the goddamned sodding banana. "I want a—"

"An _eggplant_?" Hermione finished for him, repressing a giggle.

Indeed, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix was holding a very purple eggplant in his right hand.

_Oh, bloody hell._

Hermione waved him off with an annoying smirk and went back to eating her stupid banana and flipping through her stupid book.

Kingsley closed his eyes in frustration as Hermione's rosy lips encompassed the fruit once more, her teeth sinking into—

"'Mione, can I talk to you for a second?" Harry Potter asked from the doorframe wearing white-stripped grey pajama pants, a Gryffindor Quidditch team tee-shirt, messy hair and a frown directed to Kingsley, who swiftly put down the eggplant.

The frown took the Auror by surprise,though, for he had always thought the boy rather liked him.

Maybe he had realized the sentiments weren't mutual.

"Sure, Harry," Hermione replied tiredly, lowering the banana and closing her book. "Just give me a second, Kings."

Was there a tinge of disappointment in her voice?

_It must be because they disagree on the 'keeping their secret a secret' thing,_ Kingsley decided as Hermione rose from her seat and joined Harry down the hall.

Damn, she had a nice arse.

_Bad thoughts!_ Kingsley focused his attention on the dirty dish and silverware before him instead.

A couple of waves later they were clean and put away. His mother had made sure he was well-trained in housing spells so he had learnt young.

Turning toward the coffee table again Kingsley happily noticed that Hermione had left her half-eaten banana lying on the table next to his eggplant.

Glaring at the offending pieces of fruit—and vegetable—Kingsley obliterated them with a flick of the wrist.

_Ha!_

A smug smirk still tugging his lips, Kingsley heard angry hushed voices coming from the hall.

Biting his lip and feeling guilty as hell, Kingsley whispered a charm under his breath, his hearing suddenly improving.

It took him a couple of seconds to isolate the conversation, and another couple of seconds to attempt to forget the knowledge of what Arthur and Molly were doing upstairs.

"Okay!" Harry cried. Kingsley could picture him raising his hands, attempt to calm down a fuming Hermione.

_Good luck with that,_ he thought with a chuckle.

"_Okay_," the boy echoed, his voice more subdued. "But are you coming to bed later tonight? I could wait for you."

A wave of coldness showered Kingsley from head to toe, the laughter dying in his lips. He suddenly felt very sick.

_What's wrong with me? I already suspected it!_

Leaning on the banister for support, Wizarding Britain's newly appointed Head Auror struggled to breathe through his tightly constricted throat.

_So why does it hurt so much?_

He abruptly felt he could quite commiserate with poor Ginny Weasley.

"Be _quiet_, Harry" Hermione hissed crossly in a much lower voice. "_Besides_, I already told you—_no, wait._ Give me a second—_muffliato!_"

Kingsley didn't hear anymore, his ears suddenly filled by a low buzzing sound.

He didn't mind, though, concentrated as he was in trying to appease his aching heart.

- - - -

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**A/N**: Yes, I know I said part V would include the overnight research, but this short chapter just came to me while I was typing this Theory of Knowledge essay, and it just wouldn't go away. Pretty annoying too, I almost didn't finish my bloody Theory of Kowledge essay, but whatever. That's the life of a fanfiction author. Anyways, I thought you would like to read this because I don't know when I'll be able to update part VI. And hey, you were the ones that wanted this fic to be longer; look at what you've done, it's a long chaptered-fic now! I'm predicting around ten parts, but then a couple of chapters ago I was predicting three, so you really shouldn't believe me._

_All in all, I've a pretty responsible author as of late; I've updated A Black Secret, Loving Potter, Coward, and I even started this new fic; The Ghost of You. Yes, I know I should really try to finish fics before I start new ones, but I really couldn't help myself._

_Anyways, I hope you don't mind shameless self-advertisement..._

_The Ghost of You: Hermione is made Head Girl: she'll have to learn to deal with her new duties and some very unwelcome roomates. Head Boy Draco Malfoy is one of them. Four very opinionated portraits and an arrogant ghost who won't leave her alone are the others. HrSalazar. _

_Also, for those who are reading A Black Secret, I thought you would like to know that I've started one of a series of one-shots that precede A Black Secret, and sort of explain how the characters got to be where they are. For instance, why Dumbledore is alive, Snape is a good guy, and Draco and Narcissa have been brought into the Order. I also might write a few of Snape, Narcissa, Regulus, Antares an Callista's life at Hogwarts and after Hogwarts. Lily, the Marauders and some other characters might get a cameo._

_So, this is the first of these one-shots:_

_Rekindled Trust: Narcissa comes to Snape to ask him a favor. A Black Secret's version of HBP's chapter Spinner's End, AU from HBP's original scene. SS/NM friendship._

_Oh, and by the way, I've decided to give these chapters real titles since the fic is turning out longer than expected. _

_**Chapter's six will be called 'Just a Taste'.**_

_Eeeek! Yes, I know._

_Okay, now that I've finished boring you to death, **PLEASE REVIEW!**_

_**Please?**_

_Cheers,_

_Alex._


	6. The Difficulties of Coordinated Research

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**VI**

**THE DIFFICULTIES OF COORDINATED RESEARCH**

* * *

"_To deal with words doesn't make you brave. It's with silence that cowards are beaten."_

— _**Beatrice Cole**_

* * *

- - - -

Separated by a large, polished wooden table, Hermione and Kingsley did their best to ignore each other as they read their respective Dark Arts books, taking notes every few seconds.

Kingsley's quill scribbled angrily on the thin, weathered parchment, his fierce dark eyes focused in the ancient Dark Arts book that lay before him.

Hermione could not concentrate though, she just couldn't. She kept wondering over and over again _what on God's green Earth had possessed her _to pull that banana stunt back in the kitchen. It had been _most_ uncharacteristic of her! He really should learn _not_ to follow Ginny's seduction advice.

And of course, now Kingsley wasn't speaking to her at all, obviously thinking she was some silly little girl not worth his time. How could she have been so utterly stupid!

Biting her lip, Hermione gathered her Gryffindor courage and attempted to break the ice. Maybe if he could get him to talk about the incident in training…

The incident in training that _didn't happen_, she reminded herself bitterly.

So no, that wouldn't work. She had to think of something ordinary, something small… something like…

"Um… so Draco received an owl from his mother during dinner…" Hermione said tentatively, as she brushed a stray chocolate-brown curl away from her face and looked at Kingsley, waiting for an answer.

But Kingsley really didn't feel like talking about Ferret Boy's mail with the girl he had obsessed over for months…

… _Who is incidentally sleeping with her best friend,_ a traitorous little voice—which sounded much like Malfoy's, actually—reminded him.

So Kingsley just nodded, not even glancing up from his notes.

Pursing her lips, Hermione tried to meet her research partner's gaze before continuing. "She wants him to come hide with her—Draco's mother, I mean."

Kingsley really didn't care if Ferret Boy went to hide with his mother or not. In fact, he rather liked the idea of not having the rotten little brat around anymore.

So he gripped his quill a little tighter; hoping against hope the bloody girl would just shut up already, and _stop looking at him with those damned eyes of hers!_

"Snape is Mrs. Malfoy's secret-keeper, you know. Well, he has apparently been hiding with her ever since he saved Harry a couple of weeks ago and became second in Voldemort's 'to kill' list," Hermione continued in a nervous voice, hoping to get more than a nod from the Auror that sat across her.

Refusing to look up, Kingsley decided that while he had never enjoyed Severus Snape's company, now that he had saved that Potter's life he may just like him even less.

_So what if the stupid boy was the Wizarding World's only hope._

Hermione missed Kingsley's clenched jaws as she tried again. "But Draco said he wanted to stay and fight." Getting no response, she quickly thought of a comment that would require an answer. "Isn't that noble?"

_Noble__? Ferret Boy? What, was she shagging _him_ too?_

Getting not only silence but also an angry scowl in response, Hermione bit her lip once more and sent Kingsley a pleading look. To this, the Auror just glared harder, hating himself as he thought how lovely did Hermione Granger look in candlelight.

Avoiding Kingsley's intimidating eyes, the young witch swiftly closed her mouth and went back to her book.

* * *

Around half an hour later Hermione realized that working with Kingsley would be complicated by two important factors. 

The first, of course, was the fact that Harry had made her swear that the word 'Horcrux' wouldn't leave her lips around the man. And although Hermione liked to think of herself as a self-governing, independent woman, this whole 'defeating Voldemort' affair was, first and foremost, Harry Potter's business and so she guessed it was Harry Potter's prerogative whether he wanted to ask people for help or not.

It was Hermione Granger's prerogative to tell Harry Potter he was a stubborn idiot, though.

But, they had already had the most awful row after she had merely _suggested_ to Tonks the urgency of finding something on soul-banishing magic, and Hermione really didn't want to be yelled at anymore.

And so, she had promised Harry she would be a good little side-kick and do as he said.

Hermione was only a tad bitter.

Anyway, that had made coordinated research quite a challenge. In the end, she had suggested that Kingsley look for any kind of potion, spell or ritual on the obliteration, trapping or banishment of souls, spirits and ghosts.

So now he sat across her, marking and separating anything on those subjects and then passing it over for her to check if it could be of use.

The method was rather slow, but at least she felt they were getting somewhere, and for that, she was grateful. Merlin knew that in her desperation she had even entertained the idea of challenging Kingsley to a little game of hangman.

But then the word 'Horcrux' isn't common knowledge, not even for Magical Britain's Head Auror.

_Not even for Magical Britain's brilliant, powerful, handsome… stop it, Hermione!_

Stifling a groan, Hermione sneaked a glance at the man in question, who was looking very fetching in his burgundy sweater. Also, the left part of his face was obscured, making him look even more dark and mysterious than usual.

Studying him, Hermione decided with a smile that Kingsley looked slightly out of place in the library. Although he was much smarter than most wizards (_She could talk with him about Balthazar Crowe's new Arithmancy theories, for Merlin's sake!_), Kingsley Shacklebolt still looked very much like a wizard of action.

Not to mention that with his tall, muscular frame, his deep, intimidating voice, and his intense dark eyes he was also the epitome of a fairy tale hero.

_And of course, he also had those sensuous lips, those large, calloused hands, that utterly masculine smell of pine and... Hermione Granger, stop it!!!_

Shutting her eyes and clenching her fists, Hermione cursed her problematic teenage hormones.

The man had, after all, made it painfully clear that he wanted nothing to do with her, and plus, he had been completely out-of-bounds in the first place. He was fourteen years her senior, for starters!

Despite all reason, she had liked him for a couple of months now.

A couple of tiresome, restless, stress-filled months, Hermione reminded herself.

It had all started when he had asked her how to work his office's coffee machine in his old part-time job as the Muggle Prime Minister's secretary; she had thought it was adorable how he had jumped a little every time the machine shot the espresso.

But even though she had liked him for a while—and liked him a lot, mind you— she hadn't considered him—or _them_—as an actual _possibility_ until this evening's training.

Because something had _most certainly_ happened there, regardless of what Kingsley said. In fact, the magnetic intensity between them had been such that she couldn't understand how none other than Neville had noticed.

And Neville had _certainly_ noticed; she had had to bring up the fact that she had been the one to carry him through six years of Potions with Snape to keep him quiet.

The poor boy had probably thought Kingsley was harassing her or something.

Hermione's eyes were drawn back to the man across her and she sighed. Maybe she was just lacking male attention now that she had broken things up with Harry.

Oh, if only Harry hadn't uttered those words! "Real relationship," he had said. "Tell everyone," he had said.

Right, only that would mean being murdered in her sleep by Ginny.

Or Mrs. Weasley.

Or both.

More importantly, she couldn't lie to her best friend, her soul mate, her _family_ for the past six and a half years.

She couldn't just pretend to be his loving and caring girlfriend while she was desperately, er… _infatuated_ with another man.

Even when that man didn't give her the time of the day and was busy ignoring her just now.

And that was the second reason why researching with Kingsley was being so damned difficult; not only did his silence make cooperation impossible, it was also making her increasingly nervous.

_Was he really that angry about the stupid banana thing?_

Sighing deeply, Hermione dipped her quill in an ink bottle and went back to her notes.

_Maybe if she combined that ghost exiling ritual she had read about with an obliteration hex… _

- - - -

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**A/N**: So I was wrong. Again. Chapter 6 turned out to be chapter 6, 7 and 8. So 'Just a Taste' will be 8. But hey, you can't complain, that only means more reading for you! _

_I'll make up for the lenght of this chapter by posting 7 soon, how about that?_

_Oh, and I spend an awful lot of time looking up more cowardice, bravery and fear related quotes, so I do hope you appreciate them, Lol. _

_Thank you: _

_**Monnbeam **_

_**r0manticr0se **_

_**Hotkat144 **_

_**fevers.and.mirrors **_

_**mrs. shigwa. cobain**_

_**tutucute4u** – Congrats on your new HG/BZ, I'm already hooked! _

_**Menolly Mark** – Update, I demand an update! _

_**EuphoniumGurl0** - Your help with this chapter was invaluable, thank you!!! _

_And by the way, you should really go check out **Menolly Mark**'s **Brevity**. If you're reading this fic because you like Hermione paired up with older guys, you will love it. And if you're not, chances are you'll love it anyways. _

_**Reviews are very much welcomed and very much encouraged by the author. **_

_Cheers! _

_**Gueneviere**. _


	7. Finding Something

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**VII**

**FINDING SOMETHING**

* * *

"_Love and cowardice are really the same thing."_

— _**Anonymous**._

* * *

- - - -

Stifling a groan, Hermione resisted the urge to bang her head against the eighteenth-century ebony table. The book Kingsley had just slid to her was protected by several Dark spells and thus her translation charm wasn't working all that well.

And _dammit_, she wasn't fluent in Aramaic, thank you very much.

She sighed for what was very possibly the thousandth time in the last hour before sneaking a glance at Kingsley, who was taking notes very calmly, looking as serene and untroubled as ever.

She wanted nothing but to ask him how the hell he had read the goddamned thing, but she had already tried to break the ice once and didn't particularly feel like being ignored and glared at again.

Growling softly to herself, Hermione took a sip of the coffee Kingsley had conjured only to grimace in disgust and rapidly put the mug back on the table.

_Ewww!_

It was an old wives' tale that a conjured item's quality depended not only on the wizard's magical ability but also on his capacity to have produced said item the non-magical way.

Glaring at the blue mug that now laid on the table, Hermione decided that Kingsley was lucky he was such a powerful wizard and a brilliant Auror; he would _never_ be able to keep a job at Starbucks.

* * *

"Kingsley, I think I found something!" Hermione cried eagerly, her dark brown hair falling out of her bun as she turned towards the wizard eagerly, clearly forgetting all about his silent treatment.

"Found what?" Kingsley asked gruffly, putting down his quill and speaking for the first time in hours.

"The Animus Exsilium potion!" The girl replied enthusiastically, shoving what seemed to be a small diary into his hands. "We should probably keep looking for alternatives, but I think this could actually work!"

Kingsley sighed and met her excited coffee-colored eyes before looking at the page Hermione was pointing at.

Reading the description of the potion, Kingsley realized this was going to be a long night and not only because a certain witch's happy grin was doing wonders for his low blood pressure. Supressing the urge to pull her into a forceful kiss, Kingsley gritted his jaw and muttered a brusque "that's great," before returning to his own book.

He missed the look of hurt and disappointment that flashed on the girl's face.

* * *

Hermione bit her abused lower lip, her writing slow and distracted as she kept on sneaking glances at the silent Auror that worked a few seats away from her.

The shy morning light came through the window and bathed the library as the silence was disturbed by the gongs of the old grandfather clock on the wall.

It was five in the morning, and it was going to be a beautiful day.

Hermione yawned tiredly. They had spent the whole night pouring over the numerous Dark Arts books the Blacks had owned. She had almost fallen asleep several times, but Kingsley kept conjuring more and more of his disgusting coffee.

Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him to stop so she had drunk every one of the awful concoctions.

Barely awake—for Kingsley's coffee seemed as ineffective as it was repulsive—Hermione was now dotting down ideas on how the hell they were going to acquire the many, _many_ rare and expensive ingredients they would need to produce the soul-banishing potion they had decided to use.

The bloody list was interminable; she had never in her vast hours of reading encountered a potion that required so many ingredients. But then expelling a soul from the inanimate object it was trapped on couldn't be an easy thing to do, of course.

In Hermione's eyes, the only bright side of the sodding potion was that only a few drops would be needed to expel a piece of soul, and that it would maintain its magical properties for years.

The bad side? Not only was it amazingly complex, and Professor Snape wasn't available to prepare it for them, it also had to be made in large amounts even if a few drops were enough.

That meant a lot of money. Which they had. Or Harry which did, anyway.

But it also meant a lot of time which they most certainly _didn't_ have.

Harry had been waking up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder as of late, and she had seen him rubbing his scar more than once. Three days ago he had finally confessed to her that he thought Voldemort was planning another attack soon.

They had recently found the last Horcrux—Hufflepuff's cup—and Snape had already killed Nagini when he had fled from Voldemort, unknowingly solving a problem for the Trio. Nevertheless, if they didn't destroy the bloody things soon, Harry wouldn't stand a chance when Voldemort attacked, training or no training.

Hermione guessed that since the piece of Voldemort's soul had been merged with the Nagini's own, that Horcrux had been destroyed as soon as the snake had died. The rest of the Horcruxes weren't alive, though, so they couldn't repeat that small miracle.

And Harry had gotten lucky with Riddle's diary in second year; a _live_ basilisk's poison could destroy anything magical, even a soul.

It was a pity Harry had to kill it.

And apparently, Dumbledore had destroyed the ring using pure, raw, magical power, but when Ron had suggested they try it that way, Hermione had laughed in his face. Even with his immense capabilities, the Headmaster had gotten hurt. Albus Dumbledore had lost a hand, but they would probably lose their lives.

And thus, Harry and Ron had unanimously decided she should single-handedly come up with a viable way to destroy the Horcruxes.

She was, after all, the brains of the trio, they had argued.

Ah, well at least she had Kingsley's help, she thought, and glanced up to see the man in question wearing an adorable stunned expression. Neon pink liquid was rapidly spilling over his hands and notes.

Oh Merlin, they had already covered how to appropriately use highlighters, dammit!

As she watched Kingsley attempt to clean up the mess with sheets of parchment, Hermione sighed deeply.

"Oh, honestly," she finally muttered as she pointed her wand at the Auror who suddenly looked quite frightened. "_Scourgify_," she said and raised an eyebrow at the man.

Kingsley smiled sheepishly.

He really had a rather charming smile, Hermione decided.

As if remembering he was supposed to be ignoring her, Kingsley's smile slipped, and his face became serious once more. He nodded at her in a silent thank you and went back to his book.

Sighing resignedly once again, the young witch went back to the Animus Exsilium potion's interminable list of ingredients.

In the insufficient lighting that a couple of candles provided, Hermione missed the blush that tinged Kingsley's dark cheeks.

* * *

"Argh!" Hermione growled in frustration as she dotted down the twenty-something potion ingredient and realized she wasn't half-done.

Kingsley didn't even raise his head in acknowledgement.

Git. See if she ever helped him clean himself up again!

Okay, that sounded bad, but who cared? It was late and she was physically-tired, mentally-exhausted, emotionally-confused, sexually—er…

Anyway… mandrake roots…

Hermione frowned pensively and bit her lip as she continued to review the list. Getting some of this stuff wasn't going to be easy.

Elbows propped on the table, Kingsley stared at her and absentmindedly chewed on his quill.

He didn't realize it wasn't a candy one until it was too late.

* * *

Hermione trailed the potion ingredients' list with her index finger, doing her best to ignore Kingsley's sputtering sounds.

If the ungrateful git choked to death, then all the better for her.

… Okay, so belladonna was a standard ingredient in most potions. It was common enough.

Acromantula venom was attainable, though very expensive. Then again, if destroying a piece of Voldemort's soul wasn't worth the money, Hermione didn't know what was.

Plus, Harry was loaded, so whatever.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at potion ingredient number… what was it, again? She glanced at the number in the margin—oh, number thirty-two. Right.

Well, this was interesting. So soul-banishment was the secret thirteenth use of dragon blood. She wondered if Dumbledore had known this. He was, after all, the discoverer of the other twelve.

_Carrying on…_

Fluxweed

_Common_.

Frog Brain.

_Disgusting, but common_.

Helleborne

_Not common, but any respectable Apothecary should sell it_.

Re'em Blood.

_Re'em Blood!? _Where the hell were they going to get Re'em blood from? Re'ems were extremely rare and only found in North America and the Middle East; they would be lucky if they could get their hands on a half a pint, much less a liter!

All complaints on the availability of Re'em blood were forgotten, though, when Hermione read the thirty-eighth and last ingredient of the Anima Exsilium Potion…

'_One personal item belonging to the soul being banished,'_ the page read in a neat, flowing print.

- - - -

_**TBC**_

* * *

**_A/N_**_: Sorry for the delay! And thank you so much to all of my reviewers, we're over 100 reviews now! I can't believe it. I never thought my 'odd pairing' fic would turn out to be the most popular, but I'm glad you guys are liking Kingsley._

_So, now_—_how on earth is Hermione going to come up with something of Voldemort's? _

_You may or may not have noticed but I just added a significant amount of 'wood' to 'fuel' the plot. And yes, I'm aware that, my puns are awful, no need to comment on that. _

_But really, who would have thought this short little three-piece featuringwould actually become a long, chaptered fic? _

_… I certainly didn't… _

_By the way, '__Animus Exsilium' Potion_ _means 'Soul Exiling' Potion. _

_Isn't that original. _

_Actually, I might even borrow this made-up method to destroy Horcruxes for A Black Secret, although I've thought up of another twist I could add to it._

_Oh, and THANK YOU _**EuphoniumGurl0**!

**_Please review and tell me what you think! _**

_Cheers, _

_Alex. _


	8. How Important

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**VIII**

**HOW IMPORTANT**

* * *

"_Conscience and cowardice are really the same things. Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. That is all."_

— _**Oscar Wilde**_

* * *

- - - -

She had been staring dejectedly at the ingredient list before her for about two minutes before Kingsley realized she had suddenly become uncharacteristically quiet. He raised his head and met her glazed over eyes with a frown as she slipped him the little leather book with a trembling hand.

"What is it?" He asked gruffly.

"The last ingredient," Hermione replied softly, her voice breaking almost imperceptibly. "Read the last ingredient."

Kingsley did.

Then he went back and read it again.

And again.

And _again_.

Only the ticking of the antique grandfather clock dared to break the chilling silence that filled the room before Kingsley dropped the book carelessly and slammed both hands on the table.

Hermione flinched but otherwise did nothing.

"Are you telling me," Kingsley said in the slow, threatening voice he used to intimidate baby Aurors, "that we are going to need a _personal item_ from the bleeding_ Dark Lord?"_

Hermione, pale-faced and wide-eyed, nodded dumbly.

"But... we've no longer got a spy! And _anyway_, it's not like Voldemort is going to be leaving his stuff around for his followers to nick!" Kingsley cried angrily, glaring at the shell-shocked girl across him. "Are you fucking listening to me!?"

Hermione just nodded again, her gaze unfocused.

A wave of guilt crashed onto his shoulders as he realized it wasn't Hermione's fault at all that the Universe just seemed to get its kicks from making his life utterly miserable. "I'm sorry I'm just frustrated, I guess," he whispered in a low voice.

A little worried at not getting any reaction from Hermione other than her by now customary nod, Kingsley raised his right hand and shook her shoulder slightly. There was a small pause.

"Merlin, what are we going to do?!" Hermione cried quite suddenly, startling Kingsley, who fell from his chair in surprise.

The girl jumped from her own seat, wringing the cuffs of her sweater as she took up pacing around the room. "All this work… all the sacrifices… it was all for naught?! We've come so far only to die anyway!?"

A little worried by now, Kingsley dropped his cold act and approached Hermione carefully. "Hermione," he started softly, but was interrupted by a choked from sob from the girl, who swayed uneasily as though she would crumple to the floor any second now.

"Hermione," he repeated a little firmer, taking her by the shoulders and sitting her on the couch next to the window. She let him do so but continued to sob and rant rather hysterically under her breath. He unconciously brought is left hand to her back, tracing slow, calming circles on it.

"Hermione," he said again, calling her to attention. "Hermione, sweetheart, exactly _how_ important is this?"

He fixed his gaze with hers; her wild dark eyes staring back at him in frozen horror and defeat. He knew it was bad before she said it, her voice hopeless and small. "L-like Voldemort-dying kind of important."

Kingsley blinked, taking a second to decide if he had heard her correctly before allowing his brain to process the idea...

How exactly was this related to _Voldemort_ dying? Was the soul-banishing potion meant for _him_? Were the kids actually attempting to destroy the bloody_ Dark Lord's_ soul? Shouldn't an Avada Kedavra be enough?

But then, it hadn't been _last time_… In fact, why _hadn't_ he died last time? What had Voldemort done to himself that they now had to undo? Sure, Kingsley knew several Dark magic-enhancer rituals and spells… but _immortality_?

Thousands of other questions ran through the Auror's mind. One was louder than the rest, though;

_Shouldn't bleeding Dumbledore have fucking shared this tiny bit of information with his god damned Order?!_

"B-but… how?" was all Kingsley could say without breaking into a colorful expletive of non-magical curses.

"It's a long story. I've already said too much." Hermione shook her head, seeming a bit calmer. "Harry will be upset enough as it."

Kingsley wanted to say that he didn't give a damn if poor little Harry Potter was bloody _heartbroken_ or not . The unreflexive, imbecile of a kid should have told them this ages ago!

However, seeing the Hermione still shaking and pale, Kingsley bit his tongue and angrily cursed Dumbledore, The-Boy-Who-Lived, Voldemort, and The Universe under his breath. He shook his head and leaned back into the couch, glaring at the godforsaken little leather book that still lay in the table. As both of them worried over the impossibility of their quest and the certainty of their defeat, silence filled the room once more.

A new soft sob broke Kingsley out of his reverie. He turned to the young girl sitting beside him to see actual tears rolling down her cheeks for the first time.

Chocolate hair wild, her face pale and her dark eyes drowning in tears, Hermione looked lost, sad and impossibly fragile.

He had thought of the witch in many, many ways (and not all of them suited for polite company) yet not once he had considered her _fragile_. Fragility meant weakness, and weak was something that Hermione Granger was most definitely not.

And yet here she was sitting besides him; a broken china doll crying silently and attempting not to, making Kingsley wonder if maybe Hermione still had hope after all. A rush of anguish swelled in his chest as her shoulders shook again, and he suddenly wanted nothing but to hold her in his arms. To comfort her. To stroke her hair. To look into her eyes and tell her it would be alright.

As another silent tear rolled down her cheek, Kingsley raised a hand, automatically brushing it away with his thumb. As soon as he touched her, though, he could practically _feel_ the atmosphere changing. Her abused pink lips called to him, and her now surprised dark eyes bore into his, looming him to his doom…

Enjoying the feel of her velvety skin, Kingsley's hand froze on her cheek, and he soon found Hermione looking at him in an entirely different way.

As if they had a will of their own, his fingers trailed down her face. The girl's eyelids fluttered closed as he caressed her jaw and neck and leaned closer. His face but inches from hers, Kingsley stared at her lovely, tear-stained face. She looked so delicate, so frail, so small, so_ young_.

_So bloody, ridiculously young._

And then the mood was gone. Quite suddenly, the Auror felt sick to the stomach. It was surprisingly easy to forget the girl's youth when one was around her for a long time; her intelligence and skill made her seem years older.

But the fact remained that she was just a little girl underneath it all.

And that he was a grown man.

Kingsley shook his head mentally as he berated himself for taking advantage of her friendship; her trust. Bloody hell, he was taking advantage of _her_, and the poor girl was confused enough not to push him away.

Because of course, when Hermione was herself again, she would hex him into his next birthday, and maybe bring in Lupin, Potter and the Weasleys to give her a hand.

_"Disgusting shit". "Pedophile". "God damned crib-robber"... _He could almost hear their cries already; he could almost feel their hatred... Kingsley pulled his hand away from where it had been resting in the Hermione's neck and closed his eyes, clenching his jaw in self-loathing.

Hermione opened her own eyes and stared at the man beside her in confusion. _Had she done something wrong?_

Kingsley took a few breaths to collect his thoughts and tame down the bubble of guilt and anger that rose dangerously from his chest, constricting his throat painfully.

He would have enough time to hate himself later.

"Well then, we'll just have to come up with something." He managed to whisper, refusing to look at her. "For this Voldemort business, I mean."

He then stood up unheasitatingly and retreated back to the table, picking up a random book and starting to scribble nonsense.

Hermione, right hand pressed against her face, stayed on the couch a few more seconds.

Another tear rolled down her cheek.

- - - -

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**A/N**__: I wanted to make this chapter 'Just a Taste' (again) but it turned out too long (again) so I split it up (again). Honestly, this story never turns out as I plan it, and I'm getting quite annoyed! Hmph._

_Anyways, I'll put up next chapter tomorrow, I think._

_Well, on other matters: Thank you to all of my lovely readers, each of your reviews makes me smile and really want to keep on writing. And my special regards to my beta _**EuphoniumGurl0**_ who helped me a lot with this chapter and the next._

_**Please review! You know you want to!**_

_Cheers,_

_Alex._


	9. Just A Taste

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**IX**

**JUST A TASTE**

* * *

"_You tasted it. Isn't that enough? Of what do you ever get more than a taste? That's all we're given in life, that's all we're given _of _life. A taste. There is no more."_

— _**Phillip Roth; The Dying Animal.**_

* * *

- - - -

Hermione couldn't concentrate.

She just _couldn't_; not even when the Wizarding World's fate depended on her coming up with some miraculous plan of action.

She couldn't even worry about Voldemort at the moment; her thoughts were completely occupied by the dark, handsome wizard that for some reason kept pulling away from her as soon as he let himself too close.

Was she really that repulsive? She didn't think so.

Of course, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head Auror of Magical Britain was probably one of the most sought after bachelors. Of course, he could have any vapid Veela supermodel he wanted. In fact, he must be surrounded by beautiful, sophisticated women everyday.

She was just a little girl.

And yet…And yet there _was _something going on wasn't there? He must have felt it. He must have. It couldn't all be in her imagination, right?

_Right?_

No, of course not; Neville had noticed too! She had a witness! But then… why? Why the coldness, and the apathy, and the silence?

He couldn't _still_ be angry at her because of the banana thing, could he? Maybe he was disappointed. Maybe he just thought of her as a pretentious fool.

Or maybe he wasn't angry or disappointed; maybe he didn't care at all!

Accidentally snapping the quill she was holding, Hermione decided she could no longer take this. "I'm sorry, okay?!" she cried.

"What?" Kingsley asked as he raised his head from the page he had been pretending to read. He frowned confusedly at her words and flushed state. "… Sorry?"

Hermione held a hand over her mouth, seemingly surprised at her outburst.

"Y-yes, I'm sorry—about the banana thing earlier this evening," she replied, her voice laced with anxiousness and her cheeks tinted crimson. "It's just that you were ignoring me and—"

"I wasn't _ignoring_ you; I was eating the sodding lasagna!" He argued back, his own stress coming dangerously close to its breaking point. He shook his head and took a deep breath. "I was trying to overlook the awkwardness."

Hermione scowled at him, shyness and embarrassment forgotten. "Exactly, Kingsley, you were trying to forget what happened, and—"

"—But _nothing_ happened, right?" Kingsley interrupted, dark eyes boring into hers intensely, his hands tensely clutching the book he was holding.

Hermione remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the rather gruesome picture before her. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"_Right?_" He insisted.

Hermione flashed him an angry look.

Kingsley didn't understand. He was giving her a way out, damn it! "What's wrong? I thought—"

"Oh, I _know_ what you think, Kingsley Shacklebolt!" She hissed at him, her temper flaring. "You think I'm a silly little girl who's not worth your time!"

Kingsley's jaw dropped. He didn't believe this!

"NO! Look—"

"And you're right!" Hermione continued, her dark eyes glistening with tears of frustration. The candlelight bestowed crimson tones upon her brown hair, and the shades danced on her face giving her an unearthly, ethereal look. "You're right, but in yesterday's training session something _did_ happen. _Something _that maybe I don't _want_ to forget!"

"But—I—you," the normally eloquent Kingsley muttered as he waved around his hands in desperation, trying to explain himself.

"NO!" Hermione cried again, making Kingsley jump in his seat. "You can ignore it if you want, but don't tell me it was nothing because it most certainly _was something_!"

Good lord, the girl had some lungs.

Hermione, realizing what she had just—very loudly—admitted to, blushed deeply but tilted her chin proudly, her dark eyes flashing in both anxiety and defiance.

A few seconds passed before a small smile started to pull on Kingsley's lips. He couldn't help it. The girl he was besotted with had just told him she liked him back!

For a moment, he forgot all of his fears and misgivings. He forgot Potter and his unsettling words. He forgot the banana and the eggplant. He forgot he was thirty-two years old. He forgot she was barely eighteen.

He grinned stupidly.

A huff of disbelief. "Don't you dare laugh at me, Kingsley Shacklebolt!"

Scowling at him, Hermione raised her fist as if to punch him in the shoulder, but Kingsley caught her tiny white fist in his own large, dark hand. It was cold, pale and delicate, and holding it felt unbelievingly right.

They both stared at each other for a second that seemed to drag on forever.

Then Kingsley pulled her onto his lap.

"Let me go!" Hermione demanded angrily, hitting him in the chest with her free fist.

Tiny they were but powerful too.

Kingsley continued to grin stupidly. "You look awfully cute when you're angry, you know?" He commented absent-mindedly as he used his free hand to brush a stray curl away from the young witch's blushing face.

"Why—you git, let me go. I don't need your pity!" She continued to argue, hitting him with decidedly less energy.

"Of course you don't," Kingsley mumbled as he brought her close and buried his face in her hair as he had dreamt of doing before. For once he was able to hold her with no excuses. She felt so bloody small… Her intelligence and passion were so great that he hadn't realized how petite she really was.

Hermione suddenly stopped struggling. He could feel her breathing hard.

"Damn you," she sighed against his neck before she clutched onto the collar of his shirt and pushed him back onto the chair's for a violent kiss.

Her hot lips crashed against his forcefully, and for a few seconds, Kingsley froze, shocked and uncertain as to whether this glorious moment was a dream or not. Then, just as Hermione pulled away apprehensively, he seized her by the elbows and drew her back into his lap. She straddled his waist as he kissed her back fiercely and let himself go.

All of those afternoons of staring, all of those evenings of training, and all of those nights of fantasizing that had been bottled up inside, exploded and rose chaotically until they flowed through his mouth and into hers.

Her lips were warm, soft, and just as frenzied as his as their pants and erratic breathing filled the room. Unable to stop himself, his hands trailed down her delicate back and took hold of the beautiful arse he had admired hours earlier. He pulled her closer, eliciting from her the most delicious mewling sounds.

Her small hand wandered under his shirt, trailing his strong muscles and making an involuntary shiver travel down his spine. The fiery sensation of need and want boiled his blood and burst in his veins as she accidentally rubbed against his groin. He groaned against her lips as he regained his self-control and punished her mouth for her infraction.

He was just running out of air when she pulled away and rested his forehead in his, laughing as she swatted away the hands that tried to lead her lips back onto his.

"K-Kingsley—I have to—breathe," she whispered, her breath ragged, her hair messy, and her lips bruised.

She was the most gorgeous woman he had ever kissed. And his thirst for her had only been augmented by her taste.

"Screw breathing," he whispered back and his eager lips drowned her giggles.

_PAFF!_

Hermione jumped off Kingsley as if he had just been transfigured into a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"Holy Merlin, Nymphadora! Are you okay?" A certain werewolf's worried voice could be heard from down the hall.

_Lupin_, Kingsley's stunned brain managed to process.

_I'm. So. Dead._

"Yes, Remus, I'm fine," a canary-yellow haired Tonks answered as she picked herself up from the floor and Reparo'ed the stool she had tripped on, sending Kingsley a significant glare. "I was just… _surprised_."

"Oh, okay. Would you tell Hermione and Kingsley that breakfast's ready?"

"Sure thing," Tonks growled back.

Retreating footsteps were heard, and Kingsley let out the breath he was holding, knowing that Tonks's boyfriend had returned to the kitchen. That had been close.

_So close._

Hermione, on the other hand, looked just as terrified as she had two seconds ago, face and dark eyes fixed in the epitome of the deer-in-the-headlights expression. She took a few tentative steps back towards her old seat, still staring at Tonks intently.

Tonks herself had her jaw set and her fists tightened into fists as she glared at her best friend. Kingsley uneasily pulled down his sweater, attempting to make himself a bit more presentable.

"Have you ever heard of the term _locking charm_?" The young Auror demanded through clenched teeth, her bright yellow hair turning mustard in her anger. "Imagine if it had been Remus who had come in!"

Hermione bit her lip, and Kingsley swallowed nervously as he did - in fact - imagine Remus Lupin walking in on him snogging his 'baby sister' and proceeding to pummel him to death with that unnatural werewolvian strength of his.

"He would have killed you, Kingsley, and not in the figurative sense!" Tonks continued to rant.

Well, wasn't that nice to know?

The woman shook her head in disbelief, but softened slightly as she turned to approach a confused and white-faced Hermione Granger.

"Hermione, sweetheart, I know this git here is fourteen years older than you, but I believe you're going to have be the responsible one," she told her in a mockingly motherly tone, holding her by the shoulders and shaking her slightly. She fixed her grave cerulean eyes on Hermione's scared brown ones as wicked smirk broke across her face. "So any help you might need with charms of _any kind_—"

"T-that'll be enough, Tonks," Kingsley exclaimed, jumping from his seat, grabbing the Auror's arm and energetically pushing her out of the room.

"Oookay!" Tonks replied in a sing-song voice as she crossed the doorframe. She stopped by the threshold, however, and suddenly turned around, her face lighting up in a grin. "Hey, Kingsley?"

"Yes?" He sighed, holding the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Nothing—it's just…" She continued to beam at him like a St. Mungo's escapee.

"_Yes?_" Kingsley repeated himself annoyed.

"Well, I-I'm so _proud_!" She finally proclaimed, jumping up and down in all of her bubbly, effervescent glory.

Hermione laughed weakly, and a slightly blushing Kingsley glared at Tonks before turning back to the desk.

"Oh, and Hermione, Harry was asking for you downstairs," The metamorphamagus called from the hall.

_Harry_.

Hermione's laugher died away just as Kingsley stopped on his tracks.

_Harry_.

Every word of the conversation he had overhead yesterday night came rushing back like a bucket of cold water.

Hermione was with _Harry_.

Kingsley swallowed thickly, unable to relieve the pressure constricting his throat.

_Hermione_ was with Harry.

And… why shouldn't she be with him, really? He was her age for one. Gods, even the Malfoy brat was a better match for Hermione than himself.

Yes, Hermione might have said that she liked him, but it surely was a schoolgirl crush. Girls got them all the time and that didn't mean men went around taking advantage of them.

She'd get over her infatuation. She'd forget about it in a couple of months, maybe even weeks.

Or she would have if he hadn't gone and acted like a bloody love-struck teenager, screwing everything up royally in one single blow.

Kingsley closed his eyes as he pictured Hermione's bright, hopeful face. Merlin, the worst thing was that she trusted him! She trusted him, and apparently, he wasn't even able to restrain himself around her. Thank Merlin for Tonks and her horrible timing; had he gone any further than kissing, he wouldn't have forgiven himself.

And he was plenty sure that even if he had, one small army composed by the Boy-Who-Lived, a werewolf, and an angry band of Weasleys out for his blood wouldn't have.

Not to mention Hermione's name would be dragged through the mud if the media found out, and he just couldn't do that. He couldn't single-handedly ruin the reputation—the life—of Hermione Granger.

Opening his eyes once more, Kingsley turned to face the young, silent witch whose fearful expression told him she already knew what he was going to say.

"Hermio—"

"No, Kingsley, don't say it."

"Her—"

"No!"

"But—"

"Are you channeling Remus, by any chance?" She growled angrily, her pale cheeks flushing in rage.

"No, I'm not, but you've got to und—"

"Tonks and him got together in the end, and he's not only older; he's also a werewolf!" She cried, throwing her hands in the air in utter exasperation.

"Tonks is a grown woman, Hermione," he said quietly as he took the seat across her, his dark eyes begging her to understand.

"And so am I! I'm eighteen-years-old, Kingsley!" She claimed, her voiced just short of hysterical and not helping her point at all.

"It's just not the same thing!" He replied, for once raising his thunderous voice, which echoed loudly through Grimmauld Place's large library.

A heavy, silent pause arose before the girl bit back a sob and closed her eyes to stop the tears from falling. She failed.

Kingsley felt like kicking himself. Why was it that it was so easy for him to lose his cool lately, when he was usually nothing short of a 'bloody ice man', in Tonks words? Cursing inwardly, he didn't hesitate as he took her hand in his from across the table.

It was cold.

Cold and small and pale and soft and _beautiful_.

Kingsley clenched his jaw, damning his wayward thoughts. "Hermione—sweetheart—I'm sorry," he whispered with difficulty, a knot in the throat constricting his breathing. "I shouldn't have—we don't—surely you understand..."

Her eyes flew open, and Kingsley realized bitterly that he wasn't any less affected by her dark, magnetic gaze as he was an hour ago. He brazed himself for more yelling and was surprised when he got none.

"Of course I understand," Hermione replied, her voice breaking slightly; her eyes telling him that no, she didn't understand at all.

"Of course," she repeated slightly more composed, a strange light settling on her gaze. "You have just been appointed _Head Auror_, after all. You wouldn't want a scandal to ruin your _flourishing_ career."

The sarcasm was heavy and acidic and hurtful, and she wrenched her hand away from Kingsley's before he could say anything against it. She then rose to her feet, sending several sheets of parchment to the ground as she did. That broke him out from his trance.

"No—Hermione, that's not—!" Kingsley stood up and made a grab for her wrist as she left the room, but the young witch twisted his arm and pushed him against the doorframe.

Hard.

Kingsley suddenly regretted all of those self-defence lessons.

But then her body was pressed against his, her face close enough for a kiss… It was like the training incident all over again.

Except that now Hermione was glaring at him with Avada Kedavra in her pretty dark eyes.

Kingsley swallowed hard and tried again. "Listen, Hermione—"

"Don't bother, Kingsley. You've made yourself clear," she let go of him violently and exited the room.

The Auror found himself desperately craving her touch even if it was a bruising one.

From the hall, Hermione turned to look at him, her face not angry anymore, but rather drawn and tired. Maybe even a little regretful. "Good day, Kingsley," she whispered softly, the shadows under her eyes more noticeable than ever.

It sounded too much like 'goodbye'.

'Stop!' Kingsley wanted to yell, 'I _love_ you'

Because he did.

He did love her.

He, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head Auror of Magical Britain, was completely and absolutely in love with eighteen-year-old, Hogwarts dropout, and brightest witch of her entirely too young age, Hermione Granger.

The realization hit him hard, and butterflies didn't flutter in his stomach like his mother had once told him they would. It felt much more like a bludger to the gut.

He hadn't known—hadn't realized…

Of course he had known he _lusted_ after her. Lust certainly explained his inappropriate staring. It also explained his midnight dreams and dirty fantasies. It even explained why he, even now, wanted nothing more than grab her and shag her silly against the wall.

But lust didn't quite explain why his heart pounded wildly when she smiled at him. Nor did it explain why he felt that his purpose in life would be fulfilled if only he could make her laugh more often. And lust most certainly didn't explain why now, knowing that she liked him back, he was willing to let her go so that she could be with someone that would make her happy.

And so, Kingsley summoned all of his Gryffindor courage and brazed himself to do one of the hardest things he'd have to do during the course of his life.

"Good day," he said; his voice as steady as he could manage.

A self-deprecate half-smile tugging on the lips he had kissed mere minutes ago, Hermione turned away and left, her hurried footsteps echoing in the ancient wooden floor.

Once silence reigned once more, Kingsley Shacklebolt slid down the old doorframe and crumpled to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Then he turned his head and stared at the brilliant morning sun shining through the Library window, and – too hurt and tired to feel pathetic about it – allowed quiet tears to fall for the first time in years.

- - - -

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**A/N**__: Are you pulling your hair in desperation yet? I know I am._

_Thank you to __**kaimaru**, __**tallypants**, __**ginsensu**__, Z. Ahmad, __**tequieropapi522**, __**FreeSpritSprite**__ (liked that last lust v/s love part? I thought it up after your review), __**disdainx3**__ (I did update! Yay me!), __**Miss Artemis**__ (I'm glad I'm making you like Hr/Kingsley!), __**Jevanminx**__, hermione rulz,__** Chelle Grey**__**The Eloquent Quill**__ (hbhbftry!), __**Nynaeve80**, and __**Menolly Mark **(__Brevity! __Brevity! __Brevity!)_

_Special thanks to my wonderful beta **EuphoniumGurl0**._

_Cheers!_

_Alex._


	10. Running Away

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**X**

**RUNNING AWAY**

* * *

"_It's not hard to find the truth. What is hard is not to run away from it once you have found it."_

—_**Anonymous**._

* * *

- - - -

It was well-known that patience was not among Molly Weasley's many good qualities.

It was because of this that the woman jumped straight into questioning mode as soon as a tear-stained Hermione took her seat in front of the coffee table.

"Hermione, dear, what's wrong?" The Weasley matriarch asked immediately.

"Nothing, Mrs. Weasley. I'm fine." Hermione answered emotionlessly as she stirred the tea Remus had placed in front of her. She wished she had thought of casting a glamour charm on herself before she came down for breakfast.

"Don't tell me you're fine when you _evidently _are nothing but!" Mrs. Weasley cried. Her husband placed a placating hand on top hers so she continued in a slightly more subdued voice. "Tell us what's bothering you, sweetheart, or else we won't be able to help."

_It was her own fault, really. A swish, a flick and a murmured incantation and she would have avoided this altogether…_

Hermione sighed, "I severely doubt you would be able to help me anyway, but I appreciate the concern." She said quietly, a wry smile tugging on her lips.

Mrs. Weasley looked like she wanted to say something else and glanced at the rest of the awakened Order members for support. Getting none, she scowled and rose from her seat, muttering something about cleaning the lower floor's bedrooms.

Remus frowned and raised a concerned eyebrow at Harry, who just shrugged and fixed his anxious green eyes on the young witch.

Hermione finished her tea slowly and then excused herself, claiming the need to catch some sleep. She shook her head when her best friend tried to follow her.

"I'll talk to you later, Harry," she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

_I need to be alone,_ was the unspoken statement. _I don't want you to see me cry._

She left then, and Harry returned to his seat, his expression lost and forlorn.

Tonks stood up gracelessly and ran after the girl, knocking down a chair as she did.

Harry rose again as if to stop her but turned to Remus when the older man rested a hand on his shoulder. "It might be a female-thing, Harry. Why don't you let Dora try?" he said.

Harry severely doubted this was a _female-thing _as the werewolf put it, but he sat down again and took up glaring at the soggy cereal floating around in his bowl.

Mr. Weasley put down the _Daily Prophet_ and sighed.

* * *

Tonks hadn't run after Hermione, though, knowing perfectly well her troubles were most definitely not a _female-thing_. It was much more probable that Magical Britain's brilliant Head Auror had done something stupid and mucked up things royally. 

And so, Tonks was now climbing the second sets of stairs to reach Kingsley Shacklebolt's room and give the man a good kick in the arse.

She had no idea what the git had done, but personal experience told her it must've been something among the lines of telling the girl he had just snogged senseless he was really too old for her and too much of a bloody Gryffindor to, for once, take what he wanted.

_Men. _

_Bloody tossers, the lot of them!_

Reaching the end of the stairs, Tonks turned to her right, thanking Merlin she was an Auror and thus relatively in form to—

_PAFF!_

Tonks was thrown back on the impact and winced as she landed on her arse clumsily. Opening her blue eyes she saw Kingsley laid on the floor before her, rubbing his right arm and somehow managing to look cool and collected despite everything.

_Git._

"Were you running like a crazed maniac for some reason in particular, or did you just felt the need to head butt me, Nymphadora?" he asked brusquely.

"Yes, there _is_ a reason in particular, as a matter of fact," Tonks snapped back, rising to her feet and dusting herself off before standing and glaring at Kingsley. "What on earth did you do that poor girl!?"

"Don't talk about what you don't understand, Tonks," the man replied in a quiet tone, standing up too.

"What I don't understand? _What I don't understand_, you say!?" the Auror cried in desperation, her wide, angry eyes glaring at her boss and best friend. "You'll find that I understand the situation perfectly, seeing as I_ lived _it just a few months ago!"

"It's not the same." He replied, closing his eyes as though he was trying to convince a part of himself as well. "It's just not the same."

"Why? Because Hermione is a couple of years younger; is that it? Well, let me tell you—"

Only then did Tonks acknowledge what Kingsley was carrying in his left hand.

A suitcase.

An awkward silence fell upon the pair before it was interrupted by the choked laughter that left the young woman's lips as she shook her head in disbelief.

"And now you're fleeing, Kingsley—leaving others to clean up the mess you made?"

"Tonks, I hardly—"

"No," the witch interrupted him. Having been in Hermione's shoes—having been, indeed, comforted by Kingsley himself back then—Tonks found she could summon no mercy for the man's predicament.

"What would wizards across the country think if they knew the man they chose to protect them is nothing but a sniveling _coward_?" She hissed with cruelty.

That was a low blow for an Auror as well as for a Gryffindor; Kingsley was both and he was really getting it too much lately.

Kingsley glared at the woman, his dark eyes flashing in barely suppressed rage. "A _coward_ now, am I? A _coward_ for doing what's _right_?" He advanced on her and Tonks was suddenly reminded of how intimidating Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt could be.

"Because I assure you, Nymphadora, it would be _much_ easier for me to surrender to my desires and just _fuck the damn girl against the damn wall!_"

Tonks cringed at his crude words but didn't capitulate. She had _seen_ the man smile whenever Hermione laughed, she had _seen_ him wince every time she was hurt by a hex, and she had _seen_ him staring at the young witch as though she were a goddess to be revered.

Tonks knew better than believe the lies Kingsley told himself.

She took a deep breath before attempting to persuade the man of his foolishness once more.

"Don't try to convince me you don't care, Kings, 'cause—"

"I'm not trying to convince you I don't _care_, Tonks!" Kingsley interrupted, waving around an exasperated hand before looking at her intensely. "It's _because_ I care that I have to go; don't you see? I can't restrain myself around her! I'm _dangerous_!"

Tonks lost her fragile hold on her serenity then.

"For Merlin's sake, Kingsley you sound just like Remus! She doesn't _want_ you to restrain yourself, you stupid git! It seems to me that she might very well_ want _you to fuck her against the wall, dammit!"

"_Shut up!!!_"

Kingsley's booming voice echoed down the hall, and the magical lighting of the corridor flickered as the air buzzed with energy. The man seethed in anger but shut his eyes forcefully, trying to calm himself before he blew something up.

Tonks was more than a little frightened, but she was also more than a little stubborn and refused to back out.

"Listen, Kingsley," she started cautiously. "No matter what you're feeling right now, McGonagall wants you here. The Order gave you a job, and it was to stay in Grimmauld place to protect Harry and his friends."

She tried to meet his eye, but he was just glaring at the floor; the hand that held his suitcase balled into a white-knuckled fist.

"I don't care, Tonks. I'm leaving. Tell McGonagall that being Head Auror turned out too demanding and that I can't waste time babysitting teenagers." He replied, his voice angry but controlled.

He smirked then; a sad, weak, humorless smirk. "Plus, I might not be the best person to protect Harry sodding Potter right now. I am more liable to beat him into a bloody pulp next time I see him, and we can't have that, now can we?"

He had said that last bit lightly, but Tonks could distinguish the bitterness laced to his tone. She frowned and crossed her arms in disapproval, not understanding what Harry had to do with the whole mess. She opened her mouth to argue, but Kingsley raised a hand and cut her short.

"No, Tonks, you can't change my mind. Just leave me be." He walked past her, flinching a little when the woman grabbed his upper arm to stop him.

He lowered his gaze to meet Tonks'. Dissapointed blue eyes bore into his soul.

"You can't run away from love, Kingsley," she whispered tiredly. "There is no place that far."

His eyes flashed angrily as he tore his arm away from her hold.

He walked past her without a word, stopping just before the staircase. "I'll be in my apartment. Both you and Moody know the password," he said emotionlessly.

The woman nodded although she was pretty sure he wouldn't turn around to watch her do so.

A minute or so later, Nymphadora Tonks heard the living room's floo system go on and sighed.

* * *

Harry Potter might not have been the most perceptive guy in the world, but when it came to Hermione Granger, he prided himself on being able to read her like a book. 

And so it worried him greatly not knowing what was wrong with the girl just now.

"… _and then James thought it would be a funny Valentine's prank to turn Snape's hair pink and have him sing Binns a love ballad in the middle of History of Magic…"_

Remus's voice reverberated in the background, but Harry was too deep in thought to care about the Marauder stories he generally devoted his whole attention to.

Whatever it was that had bothered his best friend, it must have been something big for Hermione Granger seldom cried.

And this fact made him even more anxious.

"… _Binns had just started talking about Riddick the Rebel again when Sirius cast the charm…"_

He would have easily laid the blame of Malfoy, but the bloody ferret was being uncommonly nice to Hermione lately—most probably because he knew it incensed him.

And anyway, if he was absolutely true to himself, he had to admit Hermione had been acting strangely for a few weeks now—months even.

"… _But he mixed up the spell and Snape ended up singing the ballad to him!"_

Not being able to take it any longer, Harry dropped his spoon into his almost dissolved cereal and left the kitchen.

"He couldn't get a date in ages after that!" Remus chuckled and opened his eyes to find himself laughing alone.

* * *

Shouting voices could be heard from the second floor where Harry stood, his right hand resting on Hermione's door handle. 

The boy's brow furrowed as he tried to discern what the yelling was about, but he couldn't distinguish words at all; only that one of the voices was Tonks' and the other Kingsley's.

Well, that was certainly strange. Harry had always thought they were close friends.

Dismissing thoughts about the Aurors' fight, the boy sighed and gathered up courage to turn the handle and open the door before him.

Hermione lay sleeping in her bed, her back turned to the door. Her curly dark brown hair was sprawled all over her shoulders, and the little light that managed to seep into the room through the closed curtains kissed the girl's skin like a lover, bestowing upon her an almost mystical glow.

Harry smiled and bit on his lower lip before he made up his mind and quietly took of his shoes.

Wishing Hermione found herself pleasantly surprised when she woke up—rather than murderous and out for his blood, of course— Harry slipped into bed next to her. He snaked a hand around her waist and realized she was wearing a small, tight, little shorts under Ron's Chudley Cannon's shirt.

Harry could feel himself growing hard against her arse, and yet he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that she wasn't wearing his boxers.

Once more, Harry Potter found himself fighting to ignore the tightness in his chest that erupted constantly ever since Hermione had started drifting away from him.

Every time he tried to kiss her she would either find a way to politely decline his advances or else get this strange look in her eyes.

A bright little gleam that looked much like guilt.

Not wanting to think about it anymore, Harry buried his nose in her hair instead, shutting his eyes as he took in its smell: jasmines, vanilla, old parchment, dusty books, and—

—male cologne.

Expensive male cologne that was most certainly not his.

Harry Potter froze, his arm tightening its hold on Hermione's petite form, his green eyes flashing in mad jealousy.

* * *

A wide-eyed Nymphadora Tonks closed Hermione's bedroom door, thanking Merlin she had been able to be uncharacteristically quiet. 

She bit her lip and sat on the staircase.

So _that_ was what Harry had to do with the whole mess.

_Damn._

* * *

- - - -

_**TBC**_

* * *

_**A/N**: So, is it too soap opera-esque for your taste? (winks at **EuphoniumGurl0**)_

_Anyways, thank you to: **kaimaru**, **I Heart Ginny**, **mariaboombaby**, **AsylleClaire** (I will make him pay, don't worry!), Shantelle, Fro (I wish you luck, fellow IB-er!), **Fire Daughter**, **Menolly Mark** (Gods, I wish you weren't so right about the math part…), **tequieropapi522**, Mari,** Miss Artemis**,** Sampdoria**, **Monnbeam**, **Jevanminx**, wasu, **Hotkat144**, **Right or Ryn** (Yeah, Kingsley is one adorable idiot), Kingsley Ruulz, **tallypants**, **FreeSpritSprite**, **ginsensu **(Well, my patience wearing thin with Kingsley too, but I can't control him, the git does as he wishes…), **Nynaeve80**, **native-kitten**, **disdainx3** (Kings still being a douche, sorry!), **tutucute4u** (I'm sorry for the whole metaphorical 'dropping you off a cliff' thing. Forgive me?), Z. Ahmad and **Hopelessly Pessimistic**._

_Also, thank you to my beta **EuphoniumGurl0**!_

_**And today on 'Alex rants about real life':**_

_DIE, ROUSSEAU, DIE!_

_Okay. Gotta go back to my philosophy essay now. Hmm… I might go watch Grey's Anatomy first, though. _

_**Please review!**_

_Cheers,_

_Alex._


	11. The Coldness Within

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**XI**

**THE COLDNESS WITHIN**

* * *

"_Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.__ I fear love.__"_

—_**Neil Gaiman**._

* * *

- - - -

Hermione woke up around 12 o' clock that morning. To her dismay, she still felt weary, and her heart ached in silence from the earlier events. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she sighed and picked up her wand, opening the closed burgundy curtains of her window.

Gleaming sunlight inundated the room, illuminating the specks of dust that had previously floated in the darkness and finally falling upon the old couch by the window as well as upon the glaring green-eyed boy that sat upon it.

Hermione jumped a bit in surprise. "Holy _shit_, Harry! What on Earth are you doing here?"

"_What did he do to you?_" Harry growled in response, ignoring her question and letting her previously crossed arms fall to his sides, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

Hermione blinked.

"Huh?"

"_Shacklebolt_," Harry hissed with venom.

Hermione cringed.

Harry noticed.

"Did he force himself on you?" He demanded.

"Wh-what!? NO! Why would you think something like that?" Hermione questioned anxiously, her heart beating wildly.

Harry frowned but relaxed noticeably. "Well, I could tell you had been crying this morning and then I heard Tonks yelling at Kingsley and um…"

Tonks had yelled at Kingsley? She would have to thank her later, Hermione decided.

"And what?" She asked suspiciously, eying Harry's flushed face.

"Er… the thing is, you… you sort of smelled like um… male cologne and well, you had been alone with him for the whole night so…"

Hermione's eyes widened comically. "Y-you _smelled_ me?"

Harry blushed but glared at her defiantly. "It's not like that! I-I just wanted to see if you were okay so I kind of hugged you for a while and well, I just happened to, um…"

"You_ just happened_ to _smell_ me... while you _hugged_ me. In my _bed_. As I _slept_." Hermione finished for him, sending him an incredulous look.

Harry scowled at her. "Well, yeah, but you don't have to make me sound so perverted! It's not me that smelled like a man!"

Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.

"Um—I mean, _ugh!_ You know what I meant!" Harry cried making wild hand movements.

"_Uh huh_," Hermione replied with a smile.

He huffed and glared at her.

Hermione's smile slipped a bit. "Listen, Harry, Kingsley—he just sort of consoled me this morning. That's it."

It alarmed her how easy it had become to lie so smoothly. Maybe she was spending too much time around Draco.

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. "_Just _consoled you, huh? You must remember Hermione, that I've _consoled _you in the past before and—"

"Not _that_ kind of consoling, you prat!" Hermione interrupted him, feeling slightly guilty knowing that had Kingsley offered physical comfort, she would have readily taken it.

_Not like that matters, now_, she thought sadly, and tried to focus on Harry's accusing eyes instead of her painfully broken heart.

"I-I just discovered something… um… _distressing_ this morning, and Kingsley…" Hermione's throat constricted as she spoke the Auror's name, but her best friend didn't notice. "He… well, he held me as I cried. That's all."

"Oh," Harry replied, feeling very silly. Kingsley Shacklebolt was an Auror and an Order member, after all—he really had to learn to get a hold of his possessiveness.

He shook his head as though to clear his thoughts, before he met Hermione's eyes again. They were the same beautiful dark coffee-brown of always and yet they were _different_ somehow.

Duller, gloomier, sadder…

_Bad different._

Harry started to worry again.

"So… what was so distressing? Does it have to do with the Horcruxes?" He inquired, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

Hermione sighed and waved her wand over her pajamas, magicking into a pair of worn-out jeans and a simple long-sleeved black shirt. "I'll tell both you and Ron later. It's kind of a long story, and Mrs. Weasley seems to be peeved at me—she'll chew my head off if we're late for lunch."

Harry chuckled and nodded, standing up and opening the bedroom door for her. The young witch sent him a grateful smile that—the boy noted—didn't quite reach her eyes.

She walked past him, turning to stare at him as she did.

"Oh, and Harry?" She called over her shoulder in an even voice.

"Yeah?"

"There's this nasty little hex I came across last night- the _Castro_ curse, if I recall correctly. It involves males not being males anymore if you know what I mean."

Harry winced.

Hermione smiled humorlessly.

"If you ever go into my room while I'm sleeping again, I won't save it for the Death Eaters. Am I clear?"

A wide-eyed Harry stopped on his tracks and nodded vigorously.

* * *

Lunch had been a quiet and rather tense affair due to the looks Hermione had been receiving: worried ones from Tonks, searching ones from Remus, and angry ones from Mrs. Weasley. Thus, as soon as the dessert dishes were waved to the kitchen, the trio had scampered to the boys' room to talk about Hermione's discoveries—the ones regarding the Horcruxes, of course. 

And so now, both Harry and Ron stared at her intently—the first one looking pensive, the latter dumbfounded.

"What do you mean, a _personal item_, Hermione?" Harry asked frowning. His emerald green eyes shone in uncertainty.

"Yeah, you don't mean a pair of his _underwear_, do you? Cuz that'd be truly disgusting." Ron made a face.

Hermione sighed. "No, Ron, we don't need his underwear, just something of his." She shook her head. "I honestly don't know where you get these ideas from."

"Mostly Fred and George." The boy responded with a grin.

"Lovely," Hermione replied dryly before turning to Harry. "You see, this is more than a little inconvenient; we don't even have a spy anymore, and it's not like we can put an ad in the Daily Prophet."

Ron chuckled. "That would be a good one. Maybe we could pass ourselves as a fanclub and—"

"What about Tonks? She's a metamorphmagus; she could turn into a Death Eater or something…" Harry suggested.

"Right. And do what? Walk up to the friggin Dark Lord and ask him for that cuddly teddy bear he sleeps with at night?" The girl smiled wryly. "Wouldn't work."

"Hey, who knows? Maybe he would be willing to give that Lestrange woman a pair of his underwear. You all saw how she looked at him in the Department of Mysteries!" Ron snickered.

Both Harry and Hermione grimaced at the mental image.

"You need help mate," Harry stated, patting his best friend on the back.

"Yeah, and anyway, we don't know where on earth Voldemort's hiding right now." Hermione said and sighed, gathering her dark hair in another messy bun that started to become undone as soon as she stuck her wand in it to fix it in place. "I think we're going to have to wait."

"Wait?" A sobered-up Ron asked from where he sat in the couch. "Wait for him to come out, you mean? That could take ages! And what even ensures you we would be able to take something from him _and_ escape in one piece!?"

"It wouldn't take ages. It's gonna happen sometime soon," Harry replied quitetly as he pointed at his slightly pink scar.

"And what about escaping? It has been sheer luck that's gotten you out alive before!"

"Well, I certainly never expected you to act as the voice of reason, Ron," Hermione intervened with a slight smile. "But anyway, unlike before, _this_ time we would be prepared for an attack."

"Prepared how?" Ron asked skeptically.

"First of all, we should tell the Order about it so that they are on their toes when it happens. And secondly, we would have to come up with some sort of retreat strategy; Voldemort will want to kill Harry instantly, but we must make sure they don't become involved in a battle. Maybe it even would be better if Harry didn't come at all…"

"Yeah right, and let you do my dirty work? No way, I'm coming; and that's final." Harry replied angrily.

"_Your_ dirty work? This is not your work any more than it is ours, Harry. We want Voldemort defeated just as much as you do!"

"But the prophecy—"

"Exactly. _Because_ of the prophecy, you cannot put yourself in unnecessary danger!"

"Oh brilliant! Now you're acting just like Dumbledore. Are you keeping important stuff from me too, Hermione, _hmm_?"

Hermione blushed lightly.

"Shut up, Harry. You know I only want the best—"

"That's what he said."

"Ugh, honestly—"

"And it doesn't even matter, Hermione. Do you think Voldemort will let anyone but me get near enough to steal something from his person?"

"He won't let you near either! The man's a coward, and you're the one prophesized to kill him!"

"The man's also an egomaniacal monster, and I bet he'll want to brag a little before he offs me so—"

"Are you really willing to put your life and the fate of the Wizarding World on the line because of a _hunch_?"

"It's not like that, Hermione! You—"

"For Merlin's sake, SHUT UP!" Ron bellowed, his face red in frustration.

Both Harry and Hermione turned to stare at the redhead, their mouths still opened mid-sentence.

Ron sighed and sat back on the couch. He really wasn't used to being the moderator of the trio's squabbles, but his friends were making him insane.

"Well," Hermione said, clearing her voice after a few seconds. "We should probably tell the Order about all of this at tomorrow's meeting."

"Leaving the Horcrux part out, of course." Harry stated firmly as his brightgreen eyes searched his best friend's weary brown ones.

Hermione eyed him strangely. "Of course." A second later, the look was gone. "On the meantime, I'll look up some kind of counter curse for the anti-apparition wards the Death Eater's will surely erect. And maybe I'll make some portkeys, too. I don't know yet."

"Don't work yourself too hard," Harry said, his voice softer.

"Right," the girl answered emotionlessly. "Bye boys," she said, leaving the room in a fast stride.

"Nutter, that one." Ron said with a fond smile, pointing at the door.

"Mhm," was all a narrow-eyed Boy-Who-Lived replied.

* * *

The flames consumed the wood nosily, the bright tongues of fire dancing and delving into the darkness above. 

Hermione, from the loveseat she sat on, sighed for what had to be the thousandth time since she had come down to the first floor's living room.

"So, Hermione, have you read anything interesting lately?" Remus asked, his voice tinged with worry. Tonks, who sat on the couch next to him, just eyed the young girl with sympathy.

"Not really," she answered softly, dull, dark eyes still trained on the fire.

Remus sighed and stared pointedly at Harry, who leaned on the staircase frowning.

"Um, 'Mione, wanna come play exploding snap with Ron and Ginny?" The boy said, attempting a carefree smile. "We'll let Malfoy play if you come."

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "No, Harry, but thanks. You go have fun."

Raking a hand through his dark hair, he sighed and climbed the stairs. Tonks shook her head and threw Remus a meaningful look. _Just let me handle it._

The werewolf sighed and rubbed his temples before nodding and stepping out of the room.

Tonks cleared her throat and turned to the young, heart-broken witch that still stared at the fire.

"Um, Hermione… I talked to Kingsley this morning…"

The girl nodded absent mindedly. "Yeah, Harry told me about that."

"Really, now?" Tonks frowned. "So, what's exactly going on between you two?" She demanded, feeling a bit of righteous indignation on her best friend's behalf.

Hermione turned to Tonks and raised an unbelieving eyebrow. "Between me and Kingsley? Absolutely _nothing_, according to him," she said, bitter sarcasm dripping from each word.

Tonks smiled wryly and shook her head. "No, I meant between you and _Harry_."

Hermione's dark eyes gleamed in surprise. "What? No, that's not—I mean…" she sighed and brought her feet up on the loveseat. "It's complicated," she said finally.

"How so?" The Auror asked, still frowning at the younger witch.

Hermione remained quiet for a few seconds before sighing and starting. "Some months ago, after that raid at Riddle's old orphanage… Harry tried to save this little girl, but..." She trailed off before starting again. "…He… he couldn't—the room collapsed on top of her, and then it was too late. I had pulled the girl's sister from the fire. She was crying so hard…"

Tonks nodded. She had been there and remembered the scared, hollowed faces of the dead children. It had been awful—probably the hardest thing she had ever encountered as an Auror.

Hermione shook her head as though she could shake the memories away. "When we came back that night… we, well—it just happened. We sort of fell into this routine, and we would look for each other when the stress and the pain became too much."

Tonks nodded again. It was unfair; they were still teenagers, and they should never be put into situations like these. She knew they were both physically and magically capable of handling this war, but emotionally? She didn't even feel emotionally capable herself.

"But then a couple of months ago," Hermione lowered her voice a little. "I realized I had… _feelings_… for Kingsley." She stopped and closed her eyes briefly, the name burning both her tongue and her heart. "I didn't think it mattered because I was sure he wouldn't look at me twice, and then Harry was just my friend…"

The Auror snorted at that, and Hermione smiled wryly. "What, you're going to call me a slut, Tonks? Go ahead; you might be right."

The older woman shook her head. "Of course you're not a slut, Hermione. Just naïve enough to think sex wouldn't complicate your friendship with Harry."

Hermione nodded. "I've always loved him, you know," she said absent-mindedly. "Harry, I mean."

Tonks' eyes widened, and Hermione smiled. "No, not like that. It's just… he's like my family. Ron too, but he already has a family so it's not the same."

"You have a family too." Tonks replied, staring at the fire.

"Not really. Not anymore," was Hermione's soft reply. She sighed before continuing. "So anyway, everything got screwed up a month ago. Harry said he wanted to tell everyone about 'our relationship'… I didn't even know we _had_ a relationship."

"He fell for you?" Tonks asked, blue eyes shining in worry.

"I-I don't think so," the girl sighed and bit her lip. "Tonks, you've got to understand that Harry… well, he's sort of starved for affection. He never really got any as a boy so when he loves people; he does so with intensity—I don't think he's able to discern between _kinds_ of love."

"Have you told him this?"

"Well, not really… I've been pulling away out of guilt, and he's been asking for reasons, but I can't very well tell him about Kingsley, can I?" Hermione turned to the fire again. "And anyway, I don't want to hurt him."

The grandfather clock from the drawing room struck four, and Tonks sighed and stood up from the couch. "Listen, Hermione, I've gotta go to work right now, but I… well, I just thought you should know… Kingsley left this morning. He went back to his apartment."

Much to the Auror's surprise, the young girl didn't burst into tears, and she didn't give any indication of having heard her.

"I expected as much," she finally whispered.

"Yeah, well, he's never been very good at resisting temptation," Tonks tried to joke but didn't quite manage a convincing smile.

"Mhm," was Hermione Granger's skeptical response.

Tonks frowned apprehensively. "Hermione, you can always talk to me about this, okay? I've had my share of stubborn men too."

The girl smiled and nodded at the purple-haired witch gratefully. Just as Harry, the Auror was quick to note that the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

Nymphadora Tonks left the house thinking on the various ways she could end Kingsley Shacklebolt's pitiful existence.

Back in Grimmauld Place a pale young woman still sat by the chimney.

Hermione sighed and threw a couple of logs of wood to feed the dying flames, yet even when the fire danced and crackled with vigor before her dark eyes, the coldness remained.

* * *

**_A/N_**_: Hiya, guys, hope you liked the chapter, though it's mostly a filler before the next. I'm almost done with that one; I expect it'll be up this weekend._ _I do hope Tonks's conversation with Hermione solved some of your doubts regarding the Hermione/Harry situation. _

_As always, I would like to thank my lovely, lovely reviewers (-pats them on the head while glaring at those that have the -gasp- _audacity_ of putting the fic on alert and not reviewing it first-) : _

**_alizaleven_**_, **Galleon-to-Galleon**, **tequieropapi522**, **maria.boom.baby**, **Polo Smurf**, **Ledophole**,** Miss Artemis**,** wasu**, **Kyosbestbuddyever13**, **The Eloquent Quill**, **Hotkat144**, **I Heart Ginny**, **FreeSpritSprite**, **ginsensu**, **Nynaeve80**, **Jevanminx**, **r0manticr0se**,Mari, **bookworm3213**, **disdainx3 **(-reads review again and breaks into uncontrollable laughter-), and darling **tutucute4u**. _

_Also, this chapter is dedicated to **Right or Ryn **whose lovely, long reviews always make me grin. I'm making her queen reviewer for a week!_

_And finally, a big hug to **EuphoniumGurl0** for checking out the chapter while fighting 'a sea of troubles', as dear old Hamlet would put it._

_Now that I'm done procrastinating, I guess I should go do my World Literature assignment (-glares at World Lit assignment sitting on the desk-). __Grr…_

**_Please review!!!_**

_Cheers,_

_Alex._


	12. Firewhisky for the Broken Heart

**C O W A R D**

_by Gueneviere_

**XII**

**FIREWHISKY FOR THE BROKEN HEART**

* * *

"_Why are we so full of restraint? Why do we not give in all directions? Is it fear of losing ourselves? Until we do lose ourselves there is no hope of finding ourselves..."_

—_**Henry Miller**._

* * *

- - - -

Despite having spent the previous night both pouring over the dusty old books of Grimmauld's library, and single-handedly ruining his love-life, Kingsley Shacklebolt still had to be up bright and early that morning at the Auror Headquarters.

He didn't mind, though. If there was one thing that always distracted him from his gloomier moods, it was work.

It wasn't easy to feel sorry for yourself while attempting not to get killed by the Dark Lord's thugs, after all.

Kingsley sighed as he entered his office and eyed the paperwork sitting on his desk. Paperwork wouldn't do. _Paperwork_ wouldn't keep Hermione Granger's big, brown eyes and tear-stained face out of his head.

He needed some fucking Death Eaters to beat up, and he fucking needed them now.

Turning around sharply, he left his office in a huff and walked up to his secretary.

"What have we got today, Fauna?" He demanded from the auburn-haired witch who sent him a flirty smile, her hazel eyes gleaming with interest.

Like _that_ was new. Fauna Mitchell had started working as a receptionist at the Auror Headquarters only a couple of years after Kingsley had graduated from the Academy, and since then she made sure she was attached to the nearest high-ranking Ministry official in sight.

Currently, she was supposed to be Preston Moore's girlfriend, but Moore was only a Senior Auror, and Fauna Mitchell was always looking for an upgrade.

"Oh, nothing you need to worry about, Kingsley, _darling_. That Death Eater you boys rounded up a couple of days ago is supposed to be interrogated this morning, but you can let the others take care of that. Being Head Auror, I'm sure that you have much more _important_ things to do…"

Kingsley sighed mentally.

"Fine. Just tell me if something comes up. Being Head doesn't make me any less of an Auror; I'm not going to spend the day doing paperwork."

Fauna blinked. "But Mr. Simmons never—"

"Yeah, and Simmons got sacked," Kingsley interrupted her with barely concealed exasperation. "Look, I don't care what that fool did. Just tell me if something comes up."

Fauna blinked again before she tilted her head to the side and smiled again. "Why, of course, darling. No need to get huffy."

"Just do it." He growled as he retreated to his office. "And Mitchell?"

"Yes?" The woman asked, batting her eyes seductively.

"Do _not_ call me 'darling'," he finished brusquely.

Quiet whispers elicited among the scared-looking Aurors as their boss' door closed with a bang.

* * *

It wasn't until late in the evening that a timid knock interrupted Kingsley from his brooding. 

"Come in," he called, his voice still hostile.

A nervous-looking Fauna peeked into the room. "Er, Mr. Shacklebolt?"

It was Mr. Shacklebolt now, was it? He smirked.

"Yeah?"

"Um, well." Fauna replied, biting on her lower lip. "Something came up—"

Kingsley stood up quickly and tried to suppress the grin that broke across his face. The law being broken wasn't supposed to be something to smile about after all.

"—Peter Pettigrew was sighted in Knockturn Alley a couple of minutes ago."

Kingsley's grin slipped.

* * *

Shadows hugged the small, twisted streets of the shabbiest part of Knockturn Alley, the hurried footsteps of half a dozen Aurors echoing in the darkness as they attempted to catch a certain slippery Death Eater rodent. 

They had evacuated the sector as soon as they had arrived, but there was still the fact that Pettigrew's Animagus form was a goddamn rat, and there were _plenty_ of those in Knockturn Alley's smelly streets.

Kingsley caught a flash of movement in his peripheral view and turned sharply around the corner it had disappeared to. The beady, little eyes of a human-shaped Peter Pettigrew widened comically as they took in the tall, dark Auror before him.

The sodding idiot was trying to apparate. Did he really think they wouldn't have thought of a simple anti-apparition ward?

Wasting no time, Kingsley sent an _Incarcerous _his way, the spell hitting the man in the middle of the chest. Sturdy-looking ropes secured him tightly.

"_Expelliarmus_," Kingsley muttered, and Pettigrew's wand flew to his hand. The rat-like man whined pathetically as he struggled against his bindings.

"What's a wanted Death Eater like you doing out in the open, Pettigrew?" Kingsley asked lightly, his eyes dark eyes flaring in anger at the sight of the Order's traitor. "One would think that even a cowardly fool like you would have enough sense not to show his face in public."

Cries and footsteps were heard as the rest of the Aurors caught up with him. Pettigrew's sniffles got louder as he realized he hadn't come alone.

"P-please… d-don't hurt me…" He pleaded, crawling up to Kingsley like a dog begging for food.

Kingsley scowled and kicked the man sharply on the shin. "If it was up to me, Pettigrew, you'd be dead already." He hauled the man up with one hand and pointed his wand at his throat. Pettigrew wailed quietly in fear. "Sadly, we need your information. Don't worry, though; once we're done turning your brain into mush, I'm sure the Dementors will be delighted to have you."

Peter cried again as one of the Aurors brought down the apparition wards. It was only a couple of seconds later that he was unceremoniously thrown into one of the Ministry's dingy, old cells.

* * *

Kingsley's shift was over soon after Pettigrew's capture,. Stepping out into the darkening London night, he breathed in the cool air as unwelcome images of a certain pretty, dark-eyed girl plagued his mind. 

He walked into a dark alley and apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

The dark, morose Auror was nursing his third shot of Ogden's Best when a young witch with blond braids entered the bar and tripped with a chair. 

"Oh, bugger. I'm so sorry, Sir," she apologized to a bearded middle-aged man who now lay soaked in his own butterbeer.

The man glared at her, and the witch smiled nervously before she got up on her feet and tumbled to Kingsley's table.

"Tonks," he nodded at her before throwing back his shot and swallowing more of the warm, amber liquid that hadn't quite managed to numb his pain just yet.

"Wotcher, Kings," she said with her customary bubbly smile, although it seemed significantly less genuine than usual.

"How'd you know I was here?" he asked in a low, glum voice as he inspected the remaining droplets of liquor that clung to the translucent glass.

"Well, you know what they say; firewhisky for the broken heart, right?" Tonks replied apprehensively staring at the row of firewhisky shots waiting to be drunk. Sighing, she took one and stared at her friend. "I heard about the capture."

Kingsley nodded distractedly. "Have you told your boyfriend that I caught his rat?"

Tonks smirked. "Yes, I did actually. He was a little miffed; I think he wanted to get him, himself."

He snorted. "If Lupin had gone after Pettigrew, there wouldn't have been a corpse to throw in a body bag."

The young woman chuckled uneasily and curled one of her blond braids around her index finger, sending Kingsley sideway glances every once in a while.

"You look like a Swedish milkmaid, you know," Kingsley smirked at her, putting down his glass and reaching for another shot.

Tonks stuck her tongue at him, and Kingsley laughed; his smile slipping quickly as he stared into his friend's currently blue eyes, suddenly wishing they were brown. He turned away quickly, gritting his teeth and cursing his wandering thoughts.

They fell into silence once again, and it wasn't until several minutes later that Tonks broke it.

"You know, Kingsley, there have been times when I've wondered why you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw." She proclaimed as she stared to the crowd distractedly. "At any rate, I've never taken you for a fool." She glanced at the man in question out of the corner of her eyes. "It now seems I might have been sadly mistaken."

"Whatever do you mean, Nymphadora, _dear_?" Kingsley replied sardonically, his eyes trained on his shot.

"I mean you have been acting very foolishly in regards to Hermione," she started in the same light tone, noting how he winced at the girl's name. She went for the kill. "You all but pushed her to Harry, you know."

Kingsley choked on a little on his firewhisky before turning to Tonks. "Ah… so they _are_ together after all." He stated bitterly, his throat so constricted that he could barely utter the words.

Every time he was remembered the dagger in his gut, it hurt almost as much as being stabbed for the first time. It was a remarkable thing, really.

"No, I don't think so," Tonks replied evenly.

He masked his surprise very poorly, but Tonks didn't notice. They _weren't_ together?

"_But_, Hermione's hurt and vulnerable, and Harry is kind, and supportive, and _there_…" Tonks continued, stressing that last word, sending Kingsley an accusatory glare that made him avert her eyes. "You're damn lucky he's her best friend, and she doesn't think he deserves to be used as a substitute. That's all that's stopping her."

Kingsley nodded dumbly and took another gulp of his firewhisky as he mentally agreed with Tonks. Knowing Hermione, she would probably feel too guilty about the library incident to continue a relationship with Potter.

"She's not friends with my cousin, though… and Draco seems interested." Tonks drawled, hoping to get a reaction from him. She knew Hermione would never do something like that, but if Kingsley thought she might, then maybe…

"Not going to happen, Tonks." Kingsley snorted. "Malfoy just wants her to spite Potter, and Hermione couldn't possibly do anything that would hurt her poor, little Harry, could she?"

Tonks sighed before turning to him and raising a speculative eyebrow. "It seems that you know her really well."

"It's hard not to get to know someone when you spend a month staring at them," Kingsley replied sarcastically.

"Don't be too tough on yourself. I think it's cute." She gave him a condescending smile while she patted his back.

"Don't _ever_ let me hear you call me _that_ again."

"Hey, they seem to agree with me." Tonks smirked, her eyes sparkling in amusement as she pointed at a group of giggling, young witches sitting a couple of tables away, leering at Kingsley very unsubtly.

"Bloody harpies. They've gotten worse after the promotion," The Auror grumbled tiredly, returning to his drink.

"Of course. They were after your looks before, and now they're after your money too."

Kingsley let out a weak, half-hearted chuckle that made Tonks worry. He used to have such a deep, booming laugh.

He sobered up in a second and fixed his eyes on the bottom of his glass as though it held the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

"Maybe it would be for the best—a good thing even…" He said quietly, trailing off and raising a new shot to his lips. He was started to feel lightheaded already. Not enough, though. Not nearly enough.

"Huh?" A confused Tonks frowned.

"Hermione getting together with Potter." Kingsley repeated swinging his arm around as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He smiled bitterly. "Maybe it would be a good thing."

"_What_? Why?" Tonks shook her head in perplexity. "You _do_ love her, don't you?"

Kingsley didn't answer, but his cringe at the word 'love' wasn't lost on the young Auror.

A couple of seconds passed before he spoke again. "I—well, I just figured that maybe it would be easier if she was unavailable…" he said, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. "Easier to forget."

Tonks laughed then, her eyes bright in disbelief as she patted her friend on the back. "Good Merlin, Kingsley, you really don't know anything about love, do you?"

The Auror remained quiet, his eyes trained on his firewhiskey, his lips pursed into a straight line.

A thought occurred to the young witch just then.

"Kings, you've never been in love before, have you?" Tonks inquired in a soft voice, leaning closer to her friend.

"I like control," was all the man said after a few seconds of silence.

Tonks blinked a couple of times, a light of understanding settling on her blue eyes. "Ah," she smiled as though she had just solved a terribly complex puzzle. "You're a control-freak." She nodded to herself, ignoring her friend's glare. "You're a control-freak and now an eighteen-year-old girl stumbles into your life and makes you fall in love with her, completely messing with your self-righteous moral code, and thoroughly screwing up your rigorously organized life."

Kingsley continued to glare at her but nodded all the same.

Tonks just smirked back. "And it scares you to death, doesn't it? Losing control? Falling in love?"

This time, _all_ she got was an angry glare, and she noted worriedly that Kingsley's grip on his firewhisky shot had tightened considerably.

"So…" Tonks said in what she hoped was a soothing voice. "How are you going to win her back?"

"I'm not _going_ to win her back, Nymphadora. That would certainly defeat the whole purpose of leaving." Kingsley replied gruffly before he polished off his glass of firewhiskey and reached for another shot.

"But, Kingsley, Hermione's _miserable_! You should _see_ her!" Tonks argued in exasperation, waving her hands for emphasis.

Other than tightening his hold on his shot, Kingsley remained morosely silent.

Tonks glared at him and tried again.

"Kingsley, you can't do this! _You're breaking her heart!_"

The freed amber liquid ran over the wooden table, Kingsley's blood giving it a reddish tint. Tonks winced, but her friend didn't even seem to notice he had broken his glass in two.

"And _me_, Nymphadora?" He hissed; frustration laced to his quiet voice. "What about _me_? What about _my_ heart? What if I don't _want_ to be used and then tossed aside when the whole 'older wizard' novelty wears off and she starts looking for a man her age?"

Tonks blue eyes widened. "Kingsley, you can't mean that! Hermione _lo_—"

"Don't tell me she _loves_ me, Tonks, because you _do not_ and _cannot _know that!"

"Yes, I _do_, actually! I just spoke to her this afternoon!" She yelled back.

Kingsley's eyes widened for a second before narrowing again in suspicion. "Did she _tell_ you that? Did she actually _say_ it?"

The young woman hesitated for less than a second, but that was enough for him. Kingsley shook his head and smiled cynically at his wounded hand.

Tonks growled in frustration. "That's not fair; she did say she had feelings for you!"

"Ooooh, _feelings_!" Kingsley just had to laugh at that. "A silly crush is more like it," he added bitterly, reaching for another shot without even cleaning up the broken glass.

"Damn you, Kingsley Shacklebolt! Why is it so hard for you to accept that maybe she might be genuinely in love with you?!"

"Because she's too good for me, damnit! Because she deserves better!" Kingsley snarled at his friend. "And because I don't want to be around when she realizes that!"

If the situation hadn't been so delicate, Tonks would have laughed at how ridiculous that statement seemed coming from the tall, dark, muscular Head Auror himself.

As it was, all she did was shake her head and wave her wand over Kingsley's hand, healing his cut. He paid her no mind, staring at the women that were still attempting to flirt with him across the room.

Tonks regarded him calculatingly for a few minutes. "So, you are just a coward after all," she said matter-of-factly after a long, stretched silence.

To her surprise, Kingsley nodded after a few seconds. "Maybe I am," he agreed quietly as he continued to stare at the group of witches. His face was impassive but Tonks could tell from the gleam in his dark eyes that something had caught his interest.

Frowning, she followed his eyes across the room.

A pretty, twenty-something brunette peered at Kingsley over her margarita.

Oh, dear.

Kingsley sighed before standing from his seat and throwing a couple of galleons on the table.

Tonks grabbed his wrist. "Kingsley, she's not Hermione," she said, attempting to dissuade him. "No one will ever be."

Her friend nodded, fixing his pain-filled dark eyes on the witch. "I know," he replied.

_That's the reason I can do this,_ was the unspoken explanation.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Nymphadora," he said instead, squeezing her hand before he schooled his features into the mysterious impassivity he had perfected over the years.

Tonks watched him as he made his way through the crowd confidently, his stride slow and arrogant. As he passed by the women's table, Tonks saw him flash a smirk at the brunette and nod at the door.

The young witch whispered something to her giggling girlfriends, put down her drink, reapplied her lipstick, and swiftly followed Kingsley out of the bar.

Tonks cursed and slammed down her glass on the table.

* * *

**_TBC_**

* * *

**_A/N_**:_ 'If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging', they say. Our charming Mr. Head Auror clearly hasn't heard that one, though._

_Thank you to all my_ _reviewers. I really couldn't (and wouldn't) do it without you:_

_**disdainx3**, **r0manticr0se**, **Right or Ryn** (I'm betting the bar scene didn't turn out 'quite' like you expected, huh? Sorry about that!) **sparklespaz16**, **x-Lazart-x**, **Galleon-to-Galleon**, **alizaleven**, **Miss Artemis**, **Monnbeam**, Mari, **AsylleClaire**, **wasu**, **FreeSpritSprite**, Zafiro, **I Heart Ginny**, **Cecilia from Sweden**, **Wickedswanz** (Please update Take Two! I'm dying here!), hryptrlovr92, sandpaw, **Hotkat144**, and **Pickled Princess** (How's Something Borrowed going??)_

_As always, thank you to **EuphoniumGurl0** for the beta work!_

_I hope you guys liked the chapter despite a certain Auror's exasperating stubborness, Lol._

_**Reviews are very much encouraged and appreciated!**_

_Cheers,_

_Alex._


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